


In Need of Counselling

by HeartsickHand



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Adolescent Sexuality, Age Difference, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Autism, Autistic Will Graham, Bad Decisions, Bad Parenting, Bed-Wetting, Betrayal, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Boarding School, Body Horror, Bullying, But its worth it, Camping, Cannibalism, Cannibalism Puns, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Character Death In Dream, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Choking, Coming of Age, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Cuddlefucking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cutting, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dark Will Graham, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deep Pressure Therapy, Denial, Depression, Dismemberment, Dissociation, Doctor/Patient, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Extremely Dubious Consent, Family Fluff, First Time, Food, Forbidden Love, Gaslighting, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Grooming, Guidance Counselor/Student, Guidance Counselors, Halloween, Halloween Special, Hallucinations, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hormones, Horror, I like food a lot, Immorality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, Investigations, Kidnapping, Lunch, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Molestation, Murder, Murder Kink, My First Fanfic, My First Fanwork, Necrophilia, Oral Fixation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pedophilia, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Puberty, Quote: This is My Design (Hannibal), Relationship Problems, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sassy Will Graham, School, School Uniforms, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Serial Killers, Sexual Abuse, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Snuff, Someone Help Will Graham, Stabbing, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Teeth, The Minnesota Shrike, Therapy, There's gonna be a lot of talk about food, Tragic Romance, Underage Masturbation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Thoughts, Walks In The Woods, Watching Someone Sleep, Will Graham Has Nightmares, Will Graham Needs a Hug, Will is 12, Will is just a sweet cuddly boy, Young Will Graham, as usual, bad fathers, dubious therapy methodology tbh, slight angst, very bad therapy, very thorough tagging, will wakes up sweaty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 66,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartsickHand/pseuds/HeartsickHand
Summary: Will Graham is a troubled 12-year-old boy, thrown about by the foster care system into a boarding school -- and into the attention of Hannibal Lecter, who uses his position as school counsellor to manipulate Will into his hands. A twisted bond slowly forms between the two, forged through blood and love, bringing Will the best and worst of times.I already have an idea of where the story is going, but I'm largely just going chapter-by-chapter. Sorry for any awkwardness that arises because of that. Comments encouraged! They'll get me nice and motivated! Thank you all for reading <3UPDATES:-Act 1 (ch.1-13) complete! Hannibal and Will meet.-Act 2 (ch.14-21) complete! Hannibal and Will get closer.-Act 3 (ch.22-28) complete! Will gets another taste of death -- and Hannibal gets a taste of Will.-Act 4 (ch29+) in progress! Will begins to embrace the darkness eating away inside him.
Relationships: Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 156
Kudos: 454





	1. Session One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fic portrays pedophilia, grooming, gaslighting, and many more horrible things. Both in reality and in the world of the fiction, these are to be taken very seriously. While romance is certainly a large part of this fanfic, it is in no way a healthy one: Hannibal, as groomers do, will take advantage of the poor confused boy, twisting and confusing his emotions. Will feels happy with Hannibal, but no matter what he thinks, their relationship is absolutely despicable, and Will is a victim. Hannibal is an abuser. READ ADDITIONAL TAGS! I try to keep everything that I portray/will portray tagged up there. Naturally, I do not condone anything approaching this behaviour irl -- if this was real, it would be disgusting and abhorrent, as should go without saying. That said, this is not real life; so enjoy!

Will sat in the chair, tapping his feet impatiently. _Why do they always take so damn long?_ It's bad enough being sent to the counsellor on his first day of seventh grade and being made to sit and wait only made his face burn hotter as he felt every passer-by judging him. (Whether the eyes on his back were real or imagined, he didn't know: his own were glued to the floor in shame.)

There was the soft click of a door. "Will Graham?"

He looked up, embarrassed to have his name called out but happy to at least retreat into a room and away from prying eyes -- even if it meant confronting his behaviour. The man before him was not what Will expected in a school counsellor: he towered over him by at least a foot and a half, and was dressed in an immaculate suit, perfectly tailored. Will supposed that private schools must have higher standards. He nodded meekly at the man, not able to meet his eyes, and walked into his office.

It was a classy room, not as messy as most counsellors', and the walls were an oddly-calming crimson. Organized bookshelves towered, and degrees were stylishly displayed. There was a variety of artwork, the first one to meet Will's eyes being a simple statue of an elk. After closing and locking the door, the man gestured towards two chairs in the centre of the room. "Please, take a seat." Will complied, awkwardly lowering himself into the left one like it was a too-hot bath. The man gracefully flowed into the other. "My name is Doctor Hannibal Lecter," he said. Will noticed his accent, smooth and foreign. He silently rolled the name around on his tongue; it flowed like oil.

Will started to defend himself before an onslaught of accusations hit him first, but the half-formed words stuck in his throat. He mustered a shuddering breath in. His esophagus swelled and burned. _Choking up already? God, I'm pathetic._ His shame spiralled. The longer he waited to speak, the more awkward it became. The more awkward it was, the harder to start talking. The sentence he was forming boiled against his throat, begging to be silenced or released.

"Take a deep breath, Will. When you're ready, tell me what happened." His voice was calming.

The boy murmured, "Don't you already know what happened?"

"I know only what the teachers told me. I'm more interested in your telling of the events."

Will wasn't used to that. He sat for an uncomfortable amount of time -- his thoughts were harder to parse when they weren't purely defensive. "I-it was in the first class of the day. We were supposed to introduce ourselves...." He paused and glanced up briefly, meeting Doctor Lecter's eyes for a brief moment. He seemed to be absorbing every word, even those unspoken. "When it was my turn," Will continued, "I stammered out my name." He scoffed out a breath. "I couldn't even say ' _Will Graham_ ' without screwing it up. I-I was already flustered, then the teacher told me to look at the class, and I couldn't -- I'm not used to such small classes, it made it harder than usual. I started tearing up, and when I had to talk about myself I could only choke out a few syllables." His eyes blurred and his voice grew more harsh. "After a while, one of the other students started 'encouraging' me. I don't know if it was genuine or not, but I yelled at him to shut up. I stormed out into the hall, and I ran into the nearest bathroom to cry.... Eventually Mr. Crawford found me, and took me into his office.... He told me he cared about me, but that it was unacceptable to behave that way. I was just trying not to cry in front of everyone..." Will trailed off, sniffing back tears. His voice was raw. "Sorry, do you have water?"

"Of course." Hannibal slid a box of tissues close to him, then got up to grab a water bottle from a mini-fridge (which was also stocked with delicious-looking food) under his desk. "Did you believe him, when he said he cares about you," Dr. Lecter asked as he set the water down in front of Will.

"I... I don't know. I don't really trust grown-ups."

"Adolescence usually brings with it more scrutiny of those in power."

"I never really have trusted adults. Every time I did, it bit me in the ass -- sorry." Will was so caught up in talking to Doctor Lecter that he forgot to censor himself.

"No need to apologize. The school's policies on language do not reach this room." After a couple seconds of dead air, he continued. "It's my understanding that you've been in the foster system since you were six years old."

"Yeah.... Every time an adult has said they care about me and that they'd find me a place to stay, it fell through. Foster families never took to me: I was always the _Problem Child_." The term was spit out like poison. "I couldn't get along with any other kids. Never learned how; I only ever really talked to the dogs. Now, they stick me in a boarding school to get rid of me. They said they were impressed by my test scores, but this was a last resort. I just wish they were honest." Will grabbed a couple more tissues.

"Your lack of trust is well-founded. Foster care often fails our most vulnerable youth. Most would call you lucky for your opportunities at this school, yet to you it is nothing more than an extension of that system."

"I wouldn't call myself lucky. It's only a matter of time until my temper gets me expelled." Will sighed in resignation.

"As Headmaster, it is Mr. Crawford's job to keep you in school."

"He only cares about how his school looks. And isn't that your job too?"

"I am employed by Mr. Crawford, but my job is to help students. I would like you to remain at this school, but strict enforcement of the rules is not my field."

"How do you plan to keep me from being expelled?"

"My doctorate is in psychiatry. While I serve as a counsellor at this school, I see myself more as a therapist."

"And you think I need therapy?"

Doctor Lecter cocked his head curiously. "Do you?"

"...I, don't know."

"Mr. Crawford certainly seems to."

"What does he want me to get out of it?"

"A better handle over your temper. He would also have you foster a healthy respect for the rules, and for your grades."

"...What's my punishment for breaking them?"

"The Headmaster trusts my judgment, and I see no need to punish you. But I would like to schedule further sessions." Doctor Lecter gracefully slid Will a sheet of paper. "Here is my availability." Will pointed towards a square on the chart, and Doctor Lecter wrote onto a simple card in perfect, controlled loops: 'Thursdays, 4:00pm to 5:30pm'. "I look forward to your next appointment," Hannibal said, baring the card with a soft smile.

* * *

After finishing the rest of his classes (uninteresting topics) and catching up with what he missed (not much), Will arrived back in his dorm. His roommates, Jimmy and Brian, were loudly talking, and his attention was sucked away from his own thoughts into their conversation. At the very least, it provided a distraction from the crushing separation he felt from the world until the dorm mother called for quiet hours. He was alone with his thoughts again.

During orientation week, he hadn't been able to hold much conversation with any other kids -- not that he had started many conversations in the first place. None of the extracurriculars held any interest; he only wanted to fish and wander into nature. Other people would just spoil it. Will eventually let the hollow feeling encompass him and lull him to sleep, to a dream of shadows and water.


	2. Session Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has to deal with a rude person -- I'm sorry to put u in these situations buddy : ^(  
> Of course, there's therapy too. Things get a teensy~bit saucy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm recycling as many characters as I can, but I have interesting (I think) places for most of them to go. Making an OC for this would feel weird, I think.  
> Anyways, I brainstormed more about the next chunk of chapters, and I'm really excited! Hope you are too. I want slow burn, but I also don't want any fluff. I really admire the way the show balances length with being super tightly written. Since this is ongoing, I can't promise everything will come back into play, but I do plan on editing it once it's done.

Will was walking down the hallway, on his way out the building after history class ended. The hallways were crowded with other kids, boasting about themselves and berating their friends, complaining about homework and cracking jokes. He kept his eyes down, trying to ignore the world around him. Will just wanted to get away from the cramped, echoey old buildings and into a peaceful corner of campus. (He squeezed through a group of noisy kids blocking the staircase.) There was still a place on the campus map that he wanted to check out that seemed solitary enough. (He overstepped, not used to the pacing of the stairs, but caught his balance.) He could fade into the woods and escape the noise. (He rapidly descended the stairs, eyes focused his stride so he wouldn't trip.) Maybe there would be some animals there, it was supposed to be fairly--

Will's head slammed into something hard, forcing his neck down on itself and clattering his jaw closed. The sudden impact had sent Will into a state of acute anger, more at the pain than anything else, so he eked out a meager "Sorry," and hoped he could continue on his way. In response, he heard a pompous chuckle. Will glanced up and saw an upperclassman, condescendingly smiling down at him. 

"Now if it isn't little _Will Graham_ ," he remarked. "Or perhaps that was 'W-w-will Graham.' Don't you remember me? I suppose not -- your name _was_ much earlier on the list than mine, and you didn't stick around. Mason Verger; charmed, I'm sure." Every word dipped in smugness, _dribbling_ ego. "If you had extended me the courtesy of staying until the end of class, you would also know that I'm the heir to the Verger Meat Packing _Dynasty._ Funny I ran into you: I was going to ask, since you're clearly out-of-place here, if you'd come around with me for lunch. I would love to inform you a little bit more about our school's culture. Think of me as... your big brother." He clapped his hand down sharply on Will's shoulder.

Will was not having it. Every sentence raised red flags. He was more pissed that Mason Verger seemed to think it might work. "Leave me alone," Will yapped. He pushed his upperclassman's shoulder to make room for himself. It complied, thankfully, and Mason let out a bewildered chuckle. Will swung his leg but (with an obnoxious nonchalance) the larger boy raised his foot to meet it, making Will lurch onto the ground. His knee caught his weight, then his hands. They ached and stung as much as his eyes and throat. He wanted to scream -- to tackle the asshole to the ground -- to cry -- to disappear -- to break his bully's jaw. He shook on the ground.

"Oh I am just _so_ sorry about that. Here, let me give you a hand." A rough hand entered Will's view. (Was that a scrap of tissue?)

Will swatted Mason away, then slowly raised himself up. He knew if he did anymore that Mason would hate him even more; he just wanted to find somewhere alone with the break time he had left.

As Will exited the building, Mason Verger hollered some faux-friendly phrase, that Will was too angry to hear.

* * *

Will was never a fan of waiting for appointments. He was relieved when Doctor Lecter opened the door precisely at 4:00pm, just after he arrived. He quickly sat down, letting out a frustrated _huff._ Hannibal offered Will water and tissues, both of which he accepted.

"Would you like to tell me about the last few days?"

"I suppose that's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

"This time is what you make of it. You could tell me anything you wish; any conversations we have will stay in this room."

Will paused and contemplated what to talk about, but he didn't know how to broach the more pressing matter on his mind. He opted to start by summarizing his week. "...I didn't get in trouble. Just kept my eyes down and my mouth shut -- I'm sure you'd have known if I was." Will's gaze, which had been wandering around Hannibal's tie (a gentle blue-and-red amoeba print) rather than his eyes, shifted down toward the carpet. "Classes weren't anything exciting: English class will be easy, but tedious.... I already know some things classes are teaching because of my old school, and it's not really hard to keep up otherwise. Just a lot to carry," he said, emphasizing the point with a slap to his bookbag. "The extracurriculars are really... _team-based_. I would rather just find somewhere to sit and fish. Alone -- anyone else would ruin it."

"Boarding schools such as ours are founded around a community of students and faculty. You cannot escape this ecosystem, and yet you are kept apart from it."

"In the halls, they act like I'm not even there. I just look down, avoiding their eyes, hoping they stay away from me. Wishing I couldn't hear them or see them, or feel their glaring at my back. It's like I'm in the sun, being examined with magnifying lenses." Will took a tissue and started idly rolling the corner between his fingers.

"Scopophobia is the fear of being stared at," Doctor Lecter stated. "You haven't met my eyes yet this session."

"I generally don't look people in the eyes. Or -- can't, I suppose. It makes me too nervous. It confirms to me that they _are_ staring."

"Or that they're not." "It is often said that eyes are the windows to the soul; there is an inherent intimacy to it."

"I'm not... _scared_ of intimacy, per se. It's just that it's uncomfortable with strangers, you know? I prefer my blinds drawn."

Doctor Lecter tilted his head. "With curtains drawn there would be no need to hide."

Will took a sip from his glass as a response, gaze dancing at the perimeter of his vision as he lifted his head back.

Hannibal's lips parted for a second, priming the conversation to restart. "I would like for you to try looking me in the eyes."

"I -- no offence, but, do I have to?"

"No. But hiding from the world is hardly a solution to your problems."

Will smiled nervously. He supposed he had to practice, and looking in the mirror would be even more awkward.... His eyes moved slowly: up the frame of the opposite chair, jumping back onto Doctor Lecter's tie, and inching its way up from there. They peeked from between Will's bangs, interrupted occasionally by slow, preparatory blinks. They met Doctor Lecter's chin (strong and sure), his mouth (a thin smile sketched across his lips), and rested at the tip of his nose (Will could swear Hannibal wasn't even swaying a centimeter, completely controlled). One more blink, and then Will's uncertain gaze aligned with Hannibal's. His gentle brown eyes comforted Will. They were smooth and soothing; oddly perfect; (dilating slightly;) betraying no emotion but exuding confidence and playfulness.

Hannibal Lecter savoured every moment their eyes crossed. Will Graham's eyes were complex and beautiful: royal azure, encroached by pale bronze around the rim. His wavering dedication to the stare, his vulnerability, his budding trust: painted clearly in the rings, crypts, and furrows of his irises. He could have held that stare indefinitely, but Will's confidence faltered -- he glanced away, and back again -- eyes suddenly uncomfortable staying in one spot.

"Sorry, I... it feels weird looking at someone that long," Will sheepishly explained.

"No need to apologize." Hannibal was still savouring the aftertaste of the moment. When he was done, he guided the conversation onward. "Earlier, you said that you didn't get in trouble," he observed.

"Y-yeah?"

"Getting in trouble and staying out of trouble are two very different things." Doctor Lecter shifted in his seat, dipping forward in his seat, bent over and still looking at Will, whose eyes flickered back onto his like moths attracted to a burning lamp. "Your eyes tell me you made that distinction on purpose."

Will was shocked to be called out. Was he mad? No, surely not -- he wasn't so strict... right? Then again, he always managed to make adults mad eventually.... "...Are you upset?" Will whimpered.

"As of now I don't see any reason to punish you." Doctor Lecter crossed his legs, leaning back into his seat again. "Tell me what happened."

"I was just trying to get out of the building, to find somewhere alone, but I got distracted.... I ran into an upperclassman -- M-mason Verger -- and he said he was in that class, the one I had the meltdown in...."

"And how did you react?"

"I was pissed. I tried just ignoring him but it didn't work, and he just kept _talking and talking_ ," spite dripped from Will's mouth, "he tripped me, and I yelled at him. I didn't do anything else, I just got away from there before I did worse.

"Hannibal gave a soft nod. "To walk away from someone so rude took control. I'm impressed to see you express it so well."

Will felt his cheeks grow a little warmer. "I yelled. I just knew he'd hold it over me if I did more: I'm too small and weak to do anything against an upperclassman."

"Nonetheless." Doctor Lecter gave Will a congratulatory smile. "And tell me, did you find that place you were looking for?"

"Yeah, actually. It's on the West side of campus, and I didn't see many people around. A few squirrels were there, too." Will smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers to my anonymous friend for brainstorming with me! I won't make any promises on how often I can get these chapters out, but as of right now I am super excited and full of ideas. The responses so far have been way more than I expected -- it makes me really happy tbh. If you have any suggestions about fun ways to fit side characters into this AU, gimme some comments! The main characters I've got down but I think that posting as I go will make writing this even more interesting and fun, so let's take advantage of that! Also, how's my characterization? I hope they're recognizable. And are these chapters short or long? I think they're as long as they need to be. It lets me write more. When the pacing picks up, I'm sure they'll be longer, with more imagery.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> -Twitter @HeartsickHand


	3. Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has an okay day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are these chapters too short? I'm weird with segues I guess, because I don't want too much filler. I also like updating regularly though. Guess I just don't know how long they normally are...

The next day, during his lunch break, Will was alone. No one bothered him on his way to the Western edge of campus. The forest there was old, filled with tall, broad-leaved trees and sparse, twiggy underbrush. Autumn was about to set in, and the gently-swaying branches held their breath in anticipation. He sat on an old bench in a small clearing, the dedication plate pried off long ago. The school's miasma of noise was lost in the twisted bark and branches, unable to reach Will. He allowed his school uniform to come untucked, and for his posture to slack. He cherished his small freedoms.

Will unpacked his meal and started idly nibbling at it. He was allowed to make his own food, but the dorm's kitchen was always full of other kids -- not that he knew how to cook: no one ever bothered to teach him. Instead, he found a time to grab a sandwich and chips from the cafeteria before it was busy, keeping the food in his bag through class so he could flee the crowds as soon as possible. He had only found the place yesterday, but it seemed more like a home than any part of the school.... Even after a week of classes and another week before in the dorms, his bed still felt too firm and he hadn't gotten used to the smell of his room. Everyone else at the dorm remained a stranger; even when people talked about things he knew about, he didn't know how to start talking.

The overlap of interests with his peers was limited, too. He never kept up with any TV shows or movies growing up, because he never had a stable way to watch them. He saw a few movies here-and-there, but his attention span would falter most times. His father had lived out in the woods, too far away for many trips to the theatre or decent signal. Most of their time was spent fishing together, learning how to tie knots, and making flies. They had moved around a lot, so he was used to being the stranger even back then. His interests rarely aligned with his fellow classmates'.

Will got lost in his memories, disjointed and full of mixed emotions, isolated from everything by greenery. He imagined himself standing in a stream, allowing the cool water to flow around his legs. His father had been fading from the scene for a while, but some of his warmth still remained. He allowed himself to get lost in the fantasy, cherishing the tranquility.

* * *

Will woke from his trance with enough time to pack up the remains of his lunch and enjoy the view before starting his brisk walk across campus to his next class. He figured he would be spending a lot of his weekend there, making a mental note to bring a clipboard so he could do his homework in peace.

He had to navigate around groups of kids on their own lunch breaks, but he was comfortably behind the initial torrents of students going back to classes. He weaved between passerby, carried along by his hasty stride. At the doors to his class's building, traffic congested. He impatiently took his place at the back of the crowd, fiddling with his bag's straps to pass the time.

"Hey, Will."

He turned in the direction of the gently-booming voice. _Shit_. "Hey, Mr. Crawford." He did his best to not sound miserable.

"I was just on my way to an appointment. How has this week been?"

Will halfheartedly shrugged. "I'm getting used to it, I guess."

"Good. How have the dorms been treating you?"

"They're good." Will eyed the crowd as they filtered up the stairs. He hoped the Headmaster wasn't going to the third floor.

"Have you been making friends? You know, the school is holding a few events this weekend. Try to relax and get to know some people!" He reached into his bag, pulling out a pamphlet Will had seen pinned to every hallway's bulletin board. "I want you to go to at least one," he said as he pushed it towards Will.

They started up the stairs. "Thanks," Will said, reading the piece of paper to appease Mr. Crawford and avoid further conversation. As they reached the second floor, the headmaster took his leave.

"Have a good weekend, Will." He waved as he walked away.

"Okay. You too." As he read each entry, Will almost groaned aloud. ' _Tug-of-War', with mud pit, followed by refreshments: too physical; 'Arts and Crafts', at tables to promote socialization: neither are really my expertise...._ Eventually, he reached 'Archery.' He knew how to fish, but without much water nearby hunting would be about as close as he could get. _Target practice would be fun, but there would also be a lot of people, I bet...._ After going through the rest of the list, he concluded that he could just wait in line for his turn, maybe a few times, then grab some food and bolt. He told himself that that would be good enough for Mr. Crawford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will does the Anxious Bisexual Speed-Walk.  
> I was gonna have him wake up late but then I was like "shit might as well have him carry a sandwich in his mouth. what is this, a cliche fuckin anime?"  
> so I didn't do that


	4. The "Weekend Welcome"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tries to be social.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo a weekend chapter released on a weekend

Will woke up Saturday morning with a knot of dread tangling in his stomach: the gnawing feeling that anything could go wrong, and that no matter what, he wouldn't make a friend. He had ignored the school's promotions, hoping to skip out, but Mr. Crawford would definitely ask about it, and it'd make Will even more nervous to lie about it. He didn't know where the headmaster intended to be, and he didn't want to risk being caught. He did his best to tell himself everything would turn out fine; that maybe he'd even have fun.

He climbed down from the top bunk, seeing that Price and Zeller had already abandoned the room to socialize. Company visiting the room was annoying, but their attraction to social events granted some decent time alone to take his time.

Will picked out some random casual clothes (a short-sleeved plaid button-up and pale jeans) to replace his pajamas. They felt much better than the stuffy school uniforms. He sat for a while at his desk, distracting himself with booklets of Sudoku, crossword puzzles -- the type of entertainment at the checkout of a gas station. He had about an hour until the archery event started, and he had no intention of leaving any earlier than he had to.

After that he raided the dorm's small collection of food for a granola bar, or some other kind of wrapped-up breakfast, to nibble on while he walked to the soccer fields where the event was being held. He slipped on some well-worn boots, grabbed a small half-finished hanjie puzzle booklet and a mechanical pencil for entertainment, and slipped out the door. People were wandering around in small groups, sometimes carrying cheap goodies or plates of food. Will's eyes were practically glued to the sidewalk as he made his way to the makeshift archery range.

When he arrived, the lines were about as long as he expected, but not as long as he had feared. Each field had a few targets at the end, with hay-bale walls ensuring no one crossed too far downrange. There was a line for beginners, which apparently provided instruction on how to shoot a bow, and several more lines for larger groups. He queued up and buried with his nose in his booklet.

Eventually, he was one of the next round of eight to shoot. The instructor gave them a run-down of simple safety rules, all essentially boiling down to 'aim at the target and don't get your arrows until the bows are away.' They were given a choice between traditional bows and compound bows, of which Will chose the latter. He grabbed his bundle of blunt arrows and settled into the leftmost position.

He unsteadily nocked his first arrow, and was careful not to loose it first or last. He aimed too high, and the first arrow sank into the soil. His next few shots glanced off of the target sack, and the one after that sank into the part of the sack that the target did not extend to.

He nocked his last arrow, hoping that even though it was his first time, he'd get at least _one_ arrow into the target. Will pulled the string back as far as he can, held himself as steady as he could, and released the arrow -- _thunk!_ \-- into the outer blue-painted ring. He had kind of fantasized doing better, but he was glad he didn't completely screw up.

The whistle blew, signalling Will and the others to put away their bows and collect their arrows. He tried to grab the more pathetically-shot arrows before he could feel too judged. He tossed his arrows into the basket with the rest and went to grab a drink.

Lemonade in hand, Will stood waiting in line again. It was actually kinda fun, and it wasn't like team sports where he got the spotlight. He was content to blend into the crowd.

After several minutes of waiting, he was allowed into the shooting range. He grabbed a compound bow again, and headed to grab the leftmost space. He set his lemonade and his arrows down at the hay bale in front of him, waiting for the other students to line up and to get the okay to fire. He idly watched them find their spots. The spot next to him was soon filled by a small brunette who seemed as out-of-place as he did at the school. She gave him a gentle smile, and he flashed a shy one back before honing his eyes on the target.

Will drew his bow, determined to do better this time. The arrow sunk into the ground, a foot shy of the sack. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, hoping to confirm that the girl next to him wasn't judging -- she wasn't. She loosed her own arrow, also falling short, and let out a laugh to herself.

When it came time to collect the litter of projectiles, half of Will's and half of the girl's had hit the sacks, but none reached the centre of the target. "Better luck next time!" It seemed like she was just being cheery, not taunting, but Will kept his guard up.

Will struggled to find footing to continue the conversation. He kind of hated small talk. "Me neither." He forced a smile. _Wow, great job being personable_ , Will chided to himself.

"I'm Abigail, by the way. I'm new here."

"Will Graham. Just transferred. It feels strange living at school."

"Yeah, but I only stay in the dorms during the week. Most weekends, I go see my dad and mom."

The pair headed out of the field and wandered over to the drinks and snacks: Abigail leading, and Will sheepishly following her lead.

When they reached the table, Abigail plucked a bottle of water from the cooler and picked up the conversation. "Ever done archery before?"

"Obviously not; I could hardly aim." Will tried saying it in the way people so often make self-depreciating jokes, but it came out closer to self-pity.

She started leading them away from the crowds, to a nearby wall they could lean on. Will followed. "My father takes me on hunting trips, but we really only used rifles. I knew how to use the bow but just barely."

"My father was more of a fisherman. We used to go out most weekends." He reached the wall and slumped against it, basked in the shade. "I'd never held a bow before today. I still prefer a fishing rod, but it was more fun than I thought."

They shared stories of fishing and hunting, about how they learned from their fathers. Abigail could tell not to press the topic of Will's father too much, but Will enjoyed being able to talk about the happy times in his life. They finished their drinks, and the conversation slowed down.

Abigail took a deep breath and hoisted herself to her feet. "Well, I have to go off to dinner with my parents before too long. Maybe I'll see you around -- do you have a phone number?"

Will's face grew warm: he didn't usually have people asking to hang out more. "N-no, actually, sorry...."

"It's okay. I was planning on going to the barbecue tomorrow evening: maybe we could meet there?"

"O-oh. Yeah! Y-yeah, I'll see you there." Will gave her a soft wave as she turned and left. He didn't really want to go, but it did mean free food and the chance to make a friend. He sat in the grass for a while before returning for one last round of archery.

* * *

Will killed time until the barbecue was about to start. He headed off to the patio it was being held on, with half a dozen grills preparing various foods for guests, and several tables being filled with food. Students and faculty wound back in several lines, and the people with plates sat in picnic tables or flowed around them. Will mingled near the edge of the crowd, looking for Abigail. Among the mass of bodies he could make out Mr. Crawford waving, from his seat among faculty, clearly happy to see Will participate. He also caught a glimpse of what he thought was Mason Verger, his hair wildly sticking out from his silhouette. His eyes darted around unfamiliar faces and girls similar to Abigail. Eventually, she emerged from behind him.

"Hey," she said casually.

"Hello. How was your time at your parents'?" Will was happy to be addressed so casually. He did his best to keep the conversation going.

"It was nice. We had venison for dinner -- it's a family favourite. Anyways, wanna get in line?" She gestured towards the shortest one.

They joined the queue, inching along as they talked about where they used to live. Abigail was from Minnesota originally, then Wisconsin for a time, and finally she ended up in Virginia. (Mostly, they moved because of Abigail's mother's job.) Will listed off the half dozen of eastern states he had lived in before ending up in foster care in Virginia, where he was first born. Before they knew it, they reached the front of the line.

"Will Graham." A smooth voice proceeded from behind the grill. Will glanced up, seeing a tall man with his sleeves rolled up and an apron on, perfectly searing an array of meats.

Will instantly recognized him. "Doctor Lecter!"

"Outside of my professional life, I have a love for cooking. I volunteered to prepare the marinades for a few of the cuts we're grilling tonight. You have a choice of chicken breast, steak, or burgers, as well as some sausages I have prepared myself." The spread on the grill was glistening and crackling, all the various meats perfectly cooked.

"I'll have a chicken breast and a couple of sausages please," Will replied.

Hannibal smiled and began ferrying food to the plate the boy presented him. "I'm glad to see you attending the weekend's events. It seems you've made a friend, as well."

"Yeah. It's not too bad, actually. Uh, h-have a good night!" Will was carried along by the line, Abigail soon to follow. The two scooped out great heaps of potatoes and vegetables, and Will gathered as much fruit as the remainder of his plate allowed.

Abigail led them to a portion of a table that was clear, gesturing for Will to sit across from her. They ate, mostly in silence except to gasp over how delicious Doctor Lecter had made the meat. Abigail finished first, eating everything, and Will finished later, save for some vegetables and bits of meat he wouldn't eat. They took care of the dinner's remains and started heading in the direction of the dorms.

Suddenly, a firm hand collided into Will's shoulder, grabbing him and making him stop. "Will Graham. Last time we met, you went and squealed away down the hall before we could finish talking. I think you owe me an apology." Mason Verger's voice made Will feel ill. He was frozen, unable to face his bully.

"Get off of him," Abigail warned.

"Oh hello. And who are you? His playmate?" Mason chuckled at his self-perceived wit. "I was just paying a visit to my friend here. I didn't get to say hello at the social event. You know, it was my papa who provides all of the meat for the school? It's why I get my dorm all to myself. If you ever want to hang out with your old buddy," he said, clapping Will's shoulder before removing his hand and walking off towards one of the dorms.

"Thanks," Will muttered once the upperclassman left. "He uh, seems to have something against me."

"Don't worry about it, okay? And hey -- I remembered after I left yesterday that I should have asked for your school email address."

Will grinned, happy to have made a friend. Abigail noted his email in her phone, and Will scratched hers down on the inside cover of his puzzle book. They parted ways, and when he got back to his dorm, Will got ready for bed, exhausted but excited, even with another week of school looming over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hanjie/picross/nonograms/griddlers idk. I felt like hanjie was like. the least childish sounding & will would call it that bc hes insecure or maybe a little bit of a weeb. or shit thats just me isnt it? he likes puzzles cuz he's a sweet lil autistic boy, & like, if I had no phone that's what i would do. (i fuckin love old-person puzzles.) also that's prolly all his family could afford, and like, those books are everywhere in gas stations & shit.
> 
> Also I never hunted or fished much so like idk how abigail & will would talk to each other but whateverrrr


	5. Session Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will goes to counselling and ends up having a little breakdown. Hannibal helps diagnose the problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some bad days & some busy days -- jeez time slips away fast these days -- but I'm back on my bullshit with a longer chapter. It gets pretty emotional & personal for me

"Will Graham."

The boy perked up, having looked forward to his appointment all week. He entered Hannibal Lecter's comfortable red office. Will made eye contact for a moment on his way to his seat.

"How did you enjoy the weekend's festivities?" Dr. Lecter started as he settled into the opposite chair.

"They were good, actually. Mr. Crawford insisted I go, and I didn't want him somehow finding out I didn't. I went to the archery thing, and it was more fun than I thought. I made a friend, actually." Will looked up at his counsellor and smiled.

"Your friend from the following night."

"Yeah -- Abigail. She talked to me, first. We talked about hunting and fishing, mostly. We're staying in touch now, meeting during lunch and stuff."

Doctor Lecter smiled at him. "Companionship is an invaluable thing. Humans are social animals."

"Speaking of animals, your sausages were amazing; I had no idea you were such a chef. I didn't get to ask, what kind of sausage was it?"

He smiled, as if sharing an inside joke with himself. "I have many hobbies. The culinary arts have long provided me an outlet for self-expression." Hannibal paused to adjust the conversation. " _Butifarra vermella_ , popular in Catalonia. Few spices are used, instead highlighting the quality of the meat."

"What type of meat?" He wasn't used to fine cuts of meat, instead mostly getting his mixed in with other foods. He guessed it was pork, but it could have been some other animal altogether for all he knew.

"Pork," the Doctor answered simply.

"It tasted better than what's usually catered here."

"Catering in such large quantities limits the quality of food the school will afford. The sausages were prepared and curing well before the barbecue was planned, in fact. I chose the pig myself."

Will was amazed anyone could be so picky about meat, but he had to admit that Doctor Lecter knew what he was doing. "There was an upperclassman at the barbecue, Mason Verger, who went on about how his dad catered for the school. I'm glad he can't take credit for the best food there."

The counsellor smiled, barely hiding how pleased he was to receive such a complement (expected as it may have been). "He is one of my other patients. I find him quite rude."

"Are you supposed to tell me that?"

"Perhaps not."

Will sharply exhaled. "I only met him a couple times but he managed to make both events deeply frustrating. The worst part is the thin façade of kindness he uses: he acts like his every word of is ambrosia and that I should be grateful to even bask in its presence. If I get upset at him though, it only seems to make him want to pick on me more."

"Turning your rebellion into submission," Doctor Lecter observed.

"First time we met, I barely kept myself together. But Abigail was there the second time. I hated that I couldn't handle him by myself, but he seemed to scamper away from her. When it comes to bullies, I can never find the confidence to push them back."

"You envy Abigail's self-assured nature."

"Not just that. I've seen her talking to other students, able to pluck conversations like ripe fruit." Will readjusted in his seat, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "For me, finding conversations is like being thrown into a desert and being told there's plenty of food if you just look. Half of what I find could be useless or harmful, and I have no idea where to start or how to look. I haven't talked to Abigail much because I don't know what to talk about, how how to talk about it, and at this point it just feels weird -- I can't make myself do it." The boy's voice was picking up a slight quiver to it as his emotions picked up speed. "I don't ever know what to say, and half the time I don't even know! So I end up just sitting, stewing with my thoughts, never knowing how to communicate them." Tears rolled down his cheeks. Hannibal quietly passed him the box of tissues. "It seems like every time I make a connection with someone, it withers away. I get too nervous to talk, and when they stop reaching out I _know_ it's my fault! Then they end up slipping from my mind as I figure they don't want to talk to me anymore." Will took a shuddering breath. "It's obviously _my_ fault I don't have friends. If we get along for a while, eventually I shrink away, and then those would-be friends stop talking to me because I'm not worth their time. And they're right -- I'm not!"

Will's thoughts were spiralling now, his composure breaking, with Doctor Lecter there to file it all away in his memory. He was reacting to everything Will said, but gently, careful not to derail the boy's train of thought. He noticed the way Will's face flushed red with anger, blessing his cheeks with a youthful glow. Will's curly bangs, slightly too long, teased at his eyes. He had been sweeping them away as he talked, but they would always fall back down, so he eventually gave up. Hannibal was imagining holding Will's brushing the curls back gently while he cried.

"Even if I _did_ manage to make a friend, it wouldn't matter -- I've always ended up moving away before too long." Will was clenching his hands, nails digging into his palm. He took some comfort in the pain it brought. "I never got along with my foster families. I wasn't able to talk to them in any meaningful way; that connection just wasn't there. I don't know if I could ever manifest one. It's not like I'm even quiet and out-of-the-way, because then at least I could coast through life. But half my interactions end up being me getting yelled at for some stupid outburst. I can only make bad impressions. In five years, I've managed to get sent back fucking _four_ times!" As the doctor took notes, Will was crumpling into himself, trying to minimize his existence. His face was buried between his knees, his forearms used to hide his eyes. "What parent would fucking want _me_ anyways?! I always end up breaking the rules, and I can't even make them happy. I'm nothing but a burden!" Will's voice cracked with the last words and he let out a pathetic sob between gasps.

"There's no need to be afraid of your emotions, Will. No need to hide your face." The boy's posture grew slightly less defensive; his sobs no longer being choked back quite so hard, but still suppressed to a soft whimpering.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. Sometimes I think that I'm just broken: I try to learn how to talk but can't. I have no one I can blame but myself...."

Doctor Lecter readjusted himself in his seat and set aside his notes. "Your behaviour exhibits traits commonly associated with Autism Spectrum Disorder. What you describe is normal, Will, just not typical."

Will laughed, his voice laced with self-loathing. "No, it couldn't be that. I could talk to my parents a little at least. I'm just broken, is all, Doctor." He paused for several seconds. "It's come up before. A teacher suggested I might be, actually, at a parent-teacher conference. My father didn't see anything wrong with me, and he's right. I was just a little weird at the time; I've gotten worse. That's just me though."

"Children often take their parent's word as gospel. Rarely is that gospel true." Will didn't respond verbally, but Doctor Lecter saw the way his face changed, rolling the thought over on his tongue to get a sense of it. "Autism manifests in many different ways, including difficulty communicating, lack of eye contact, as well as a myriad of other symptoms -- many of which you display."

The boy's face grew pensive, trying to perceive himself from this new perspective. "I don't know," he said curtly.

"I can assure you my medical opinion is well-founded. If you'd like, we can do a full diagnosis."

"And what if I have it?"

Doctor Lecter got up, quickly finding the appropriate forms from his filing cabinet. "It simply means you operate in a different way than most. It's not something to cure, but understanding yourself will help you find a place in this world. Let me help you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent so much time researching sausages just for Hannibal's one little line. sausage wikis are like, a thing? anyways, yeah, hannibal is still a cannibal. and a creep abt will -- more of that to come. what a strange perverted man


	6. School Assignments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Abigail spend some time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya girl going through some shit rn. Thank you all for keeping up with this, it means a lot tbh  
> seriously -- a thousand hits! Maybe it's not much, I honestly cant tell, but it sure feels like a lot for my first fic  
> anyways i think(???) this chapter is longer? enjoy <3

After his appointment, Will had hesitantly reached out to Abigail, asking if they could study together out in his getaway spot the next day during lunch. Now, as the sun dove down in bright beams through the canopy above him, he nervously fiddled with his pen, waiting for her to arrive. They had the same math teacher and thus the same homework, so they decided to work on it together. Will didn't really need help with math -- never had -- but Doctor Lecter had suggested he spend time with her, and Will hadn't yet gone to the other class whose homework they shared.

Before too long, Will heard gentle footsteps approaching. He turned his head and briefly met eyes with Abigail, who had seemingly appeared from behind the closest tree. "Hey! I hardly heard you coming." He waved at the girl, giving a tight smile before his eyes fell away to the safety of the forest floor. "You remembered a clip board, right? There's no table out here, but it's a good place to study."

"Yeah, of course," she responded cheerily. "It seems like a really peaceful place." Abigail dropped her bag beside the bench and sat down, bending over to trawl the relevant papers and books from her bag. She led the conversation about the homework, asking a few questions but largely just verifying answers as they got them. While they were independently doing a longer problem before checking against each other, Abigail broke the silence. "You also have Ms. Shannon for social studies, right? Have you had her class yet?"

"Yeah, and no. That's the class after next for me. Why?"

"There's a project -- just researching a historical figure -- and I don't have any friends in that class. I asked Ms. Shannon after class and she said that we could pair up with someone from another class. Maybe we could do it together."

Will was grateful she brought it up; there was nothing worse than being stuck without a partner for a project, and Ms. Shannon didn't seem the type to let him go at it alone. "Yeah, that sounds good. Do I just ask after class? Oh, and uh, when is it due?"

"Yeah, just ask her. It's due Tuesday... I was gonna go hunting this weekend, but I don't think there'd be time to do the project if I did. I can ask my dad if you could come over tomorrow to work on it with me. You'd get a nice home meal too."

He was rarely ever invited places by friends, and the prospect terrified and excited him. "Y-yeah, if that's okay. I don't want to be a bother at all."

She brushed off his self-depreciation with a laugh. "Don't worry, it'll be fine. My parents are good folks. I'll text him and ask right now, actually." She pulled out her phone, quickly typing her request. They went back to homework for a while, compared answers, and moved on to the next. It wasn't long before Abigail was notified by a harsh _ding_. "He said it's no problem. He's planning on picking me up outside my dorm around 8 tomorrow, can you make that?"

"No problem." Will's stomach fluttered. _Meeting parents is always so fucking awkward_. By the end of lunch period they both finished their homework, walking along to their next classes together as long as they could before splitting off.

* * *

It was a particularly cloudy and cool Saturday. Will shivered through his thin sweatshirt as he sat on the front steps of the dorm, engulfed by its shadow. He glanced back at the front doors as he heard them open: this time it was finally Abigail who walked through. He waved gingerly and she waved back, smiling.

"Hey. My dad should be here any time now." She shrugged her shoulder, calling attention to what she held. "We okay doing the project on my laptop?"

"Yeah, not a problem. You can print it off and hand it in then, right?"

They brainstormed the broad strokes of the project as they waited for Abigail's dad. Eventually a grey SUV pulled up, and Abigail jumped onto her feet to indicate it was her dad. Through the tinted glass he could make out his silhouette, waving. Abigail opened the back door and slid through to the other side, patting the seat diagonal of Mr. Hobbs to indicate Will was to sit there. He obediently slid into it and closed the door as politely as he could.

Mr. Hobbs rotated in his seat to extend his hand towards Will. "Will Graham, right?" He asked, a barely-polite grin stretched across his face.

"Yeah. Uh n-nice to meet you." He nervously shook the man's hands, much larger than his own, trying to figure out how hard to squeeze. Mr. Hobbs held on for what felt like far too long, and Will took his soonest opportunity to pull his hand back.

After that, Garret Jacob Hobbs moved his attention to his daughter. Will gazed through the car window, watching cars and trees and roadkill rush by as he was carried off to the Hobbs household. The hum of the vehicle drowned out his thoughts, growing hypnotized as the suburbs transitioned into wilderness.

"Will?"

His eyes snapped back into focus. "Huh?"

"My dad was asking how boarding school was treating you."

"Oh, uh, it's okay. It's nice to get off-campus though," he said, mostly to Abigail. "Thanks for having me."

Mr. Hobbs glanced back at Will through the rear-view. "You're lucky, we've got a special dinner tonight. Hunted it myself, earlier this week. You a hunter, Will?"

"No, mostly fishing."

"Ah -- then you better get excited for the best venison you've ever had!"

Will didn't know how to respond, and by the time he thought of a proper response the time had already passed. He gazed back out the window, now more aware of any conversation. Luckily he wasn't called on again until Abigail declared they finally reached her neighborhood. It was suburban, but spread out: plenty of trees around, a spattering of large houses interrupting the the scenery with flat lawns and orderly fences. They pulled into the driveway of a modestly-sized house resting along the treeline. Mr. Hobbs pressed a garage-door opener and pulled into a well-maintained garage filled with hunting equipment and mounted antlers.

"Well, here we are," Abigail said as she slid out the door. Will followed suit, sticking close behind her as she entered the house. She took off her shoes at the door and padded down the stairs. "My room's down in the basement. It's carpeted, so don't wear your shoes."

Will took off his shoes and had just landed on the first step when the head of the house held him back by the shoulder. "Don't go causing any trouble, you hear? Abigail knows the rules, and you best follow them."

"Y-yes sir," he whimpered. As soon as the hand retracted, he caught up to his friend as quickly as he could. Will had dealt with worse parents by far, but something about Garret Jacob Hobbs felt... off. He shrugged it off as his general distrust of adults.

Abigail was waiting near the bottom of the stairs to lead Will to her room. The basement was finished and furnished, padded with plush carpet, and a large glass sliding door led out to the back yard, which continued to slope down towards a small stream. They walked past a couple of rooms introduced as her mother's office (off-limits to Will), a living room, and a half-bathroom. Near the end of the hallway was a small room, decorated with a bed, a dresser, and a soft rug. Light filtered through a half-blinded window facing the back yard. Since their house "There's not much here, but this is my room. Sorry there's no seating -- I'm not here often enough for that -- there's a sofa and coffee table in the living room we could work on." She gathered everything she needed from her bag, leaving it open on the floor. She gestured to the end of the hallway. "That's the utility room back there; my dad says you're not allowed back there. Just so you know."

Will nodded in response. The last thing he wanted was to get in trouble.

The pair went back to the living room they passed earlier, spreading out notes around the laptop and diligently working between sips of the sodas Abigail's mom brought them. There were some throw pillows that got in the way and slightly uncomfortable, so he gently place them to the side to make more room. The couch was soft and wide, leaving plenty of space between the two in case Mr. Hobbs were to come down -- Will had the feeling he wouldn't even accept the boy's elbow bumping up against his daughters, even if it was innocent.

Eventually, work on the project slowed down. Abigail piped up. "I need to stretch my legs. Do you wanna grab some food? We have sandwich meat, chips, some frozen stuff."

He accepted, and the two of them made their way upstairs to the kitchen. It was large, with clean counters and bright windows. Various herbs and vegetables were strung up to dry, and a gentle breeze from the window carried the scents to Will. "So, am I supposed to just take a look in the fridge, or...?"

"Yeah, of course. If you want a sandwich, the bread is here." She opened a cupboard and took out a half-finished loaf. "Just about anything in there is free reign. Some stuff is store-bought but there's venison and stuff too. My dad likes to go hunting during the week sometimes too, so we have a bunch."

Will rifled through the fridge, trying to decide on a deli meat for his sandwich. He grabbed a plate of sliced meat, evidently venison from the fact that it was saran-wrapped instead of in a bag from the deli. He put a couple of layers of meat onto his sandwich, smeared some mayo on the top slice, and cut it diagonally. He grabbed a bag of plain potato chips to dump on his plate as a hefty side, and sat down at the table next to Abigail. Her father was doing yard work and her mother was unobtrusive, and Abigail wasn't very talkative, so Will was able to enjoy his food in peace. His sandwich was delicious.

The evening came quickly. The project took longer than either of the kids anticipated, and they lamented the amount of work the school expected of them. The wonderful smells of a home-cooked meal wafted down into the basement, eventually permeating the whole house. They had just finished the final touches by the time Mrs. Hobbs came down to grab them for dinner. The sun was low in the sky, casting long beams of light in through the windows. In the centre of the table was a crock pot, steaming and full of meat and vegetables.

Mr. Hobbs scooped it out onto their plates one-by-one, serving his guest first. "I hope you enjoy my wife's cooking," he said as he placed the food in front of Will, who thanked him.

Dinner was spent largely on boiler-plate questions: _how's school_ , _how did you meet_ , _what are your classes...._ Will answered frankly, never quite able to respond with anything interesting enough to carry on the conversation. So, after the questioning was done, they fell into silence. Eventually, while the scraps of dinner were being finished, the parents were mostly talking to Abigail about what things they're up to lately -- mostly drab suburban life.

After they all had finished their food, Abigail's father slapped his knees and stood up, then turned to face Will. "Well, looks like it's about time to take you back to your dorm. Go get everything ready to go, I'll be waiting in the car." Abigail put their dishes away, then moved toward the door to put on her shoes. Mr. Hobbs paused, halfway out the door. "You stay here and do dishes, sweetheart." She obeyed.

Will gathered his things and said goodbye, and stepped into the garage. He moved toward the back door, but Mr. Hobbs leaned over to open the passenger-side.

"Come on." He patted the seat and leaned back to turn the ignition.

Will hopped up onto the seat and buckled up, sitting as far away from the centre as possible. He spent the car ride staring out at the horizon, now reddened in the setting sun.

The vehicle finally arrived where Will was picked up. He tugged at the door handle, but the door was still locked.

"Don't go trying anything with Abigail, now."

Will tried to ignore the reflection whose gaze bored into him. He gulped and nodded sharply, still grasping the door handle like a life preserver. The door clicked.

"Go on."

Will didn't hear the car drive off until he rounded the corner on the way back to his dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garret Jacob Hobbs Garret Jacob Hobbs Garret Jacob Hobbs god why does he keep his middle name in there. It's so long. and just saying Garret sounds weird....
> 
> anyways, next chapter will have Hannibal in it again! He's gonna be doing some mischief, finally ; ^)
> 
> ........god im sorry if i ever get car terminology wrong, I have never driven and i could not name like a single Car Fact. i dont know any of the jargon


	7. Hannibal Lecter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Lecter gets an unexpected visit from young Will Graham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, broke 10k words!

Hannibal Lecter sat at his desk, taking down detailed notes of his last session. His pen flowed with the soothing classical music that permeated his office. It emanated from the record player that he brought out during his break between morning and afternoon appointments. Hannibal's hand eventually fell still, having noted every observation he had made, and then gently placed the notebook on the shelf with the rest of his patients'.

He unlocked his door and peered out to see if any students were waiting to see him during his office hours. As it turned out, one was: Will Graham. Hannibal braced the door open. "Please, come in."

The boy graced him with an ephemeral glance, casting his eyes downwards again before Hannibal had his fill. When the boy crossed in front of him, Hannibal inhaled quietly and deeply, sampling his scent like wine: sweet, a tad earthy, and with a touch of sweat: pungent but not yet sour or bitter. It was a newer scent on him, the beginning of the burgeoning changes he would face as his body's chemistry changed -- a sign of his fading prepubescence. A ripening.

Will Graham's posture relaxed slightly as he entered, happy to be sheltered in its crimson walls. Doctor Lecter closed the door, then silently slid the lock back into place.

The boy sat in his usual spot, his composure inconsistently warbling. During the several weeks following his diagnosis, Will had been gaining some confidence and stability, proceeding largely without incident as he learned to mask his emotions and blend in with his peers. He had been displaying more confidence, tutored by Hannibal to portray what the world wanted of him -- tailoring him a _Person Suit_. Now Will sat before him, rocking slightly, emotions seeping from the seams. Will Graham was disoriented and alone, on the verge of plunging down into some unknown depths and grasping for his therapist like a buoy. Hannibal was curious what lay in those depths -- what muddled memories and emotions formed into down there, colliding and tangling and evolving in the ocean of Will's mind. "Calm your breathing, Will. Remember what I taught you."

Will worked to smooth out his breathing, but he couldn't quite inhale as deeply as he knew he was supposed to when he got upset. His breaths inward were minced, incrementally filling as he forced the air down, and his lungs immediately disgorged it. He was far too aware of his pulse, slowing now but still strong and loud in his ears.

Hannibal, still standing, made his way over to his record player. He picked the heavy needle up from the disk, flooding the room with silence, interrupted only by the boy's shuddering, which grew more steady with the stimulus removed. "Speak whenever you feel comfortable doing so." He gently placed a chilled water bottle in front of Will, next to the box of tissues. "I have no appointments for the next few hours."

"T-th-thank you," he choked out in response. He grabbed the water bottle firmly, its crinkle the only sound left around him. The boy sipped at the water, and his breathing was finally semi-regular. Doctor Lecter sat down opposite of Will, legs crossed and eyes fixed, silent and waiting. "I... I think I was overstimulated," he hesitantly suggested. Doctor Lecter nodded slightly but said nothing in response. "All weekend my roommates were being loud, talking up into the night. Then this morning, all my classes were loud, talking about what they did over the weekend, and the teachers didn't seem to mind quite as much." He paused to lay his words out while he sipped at his water. "Then, go figure, there was a fire drill, in my third class. We all got outside, stood in line... dozens of classes all talking, and I couldn't leave. It... it started getting worse -- for me -- and when we started to go back inside, I was on the verge of tears.... I knew I couldn't stand to go back into those crowded hallways, so I kinda just... came here instead. It's, uh, peaceful" He looked up at Hannibal, longer this time, eyes relieved and still-glistening from the tears. Hannibal's heart quivered at the sight.

"I can let your teacher know you had an emergency. Until then, I think you had better stay here to rest."

His face lit up subtly. "Is that okay?"

"Of course."

"But I have to go get lunch before too long though."

"Even if you were to stop by to grab a sandwich, you're in no state." Hannibal paused, finding a way to lay out his proposition. "I happen to have brought enough food today for the both of us."

Will thought about it for a moment. "Well, your barbecue _was_ really good...."

"Hardly my area of expertise. Today, I have _coq au vin_ \-- a stew, chicken braised in wine." He spared young Will the details of the wine he used.

"Wine?"

"The alcohol evaporates during the cooking. Do you have any allergies?" Hannibal had looked at every available file on Will already, including medical -- he knew he didn't.

Will paused to think briefly, soon confirming he wasn't. after some time, he decided he was hungry. Hannibal got up from his seat to reheat the meal in the staff room and returning, luckily with no interruptions. When he entered his office, Will was silently working on a puzzle booklet, his brow slightly furrowed but his hands moving with little hesitation. Hannibal could tell he had a knack for it, and he figured Will would want to finish the puzzle before eating.

The two ate, across from each other, Will being extra-careful not to spill any. He had been hesitant with the meal at first, likely scared to try something new, but soon he was swallowing as fast as he could while still being polite. He let out soft low moans to indicate his satisfaction as he ate, and Hannibal treasured every one.

Doctor Lecter had poured himself a small glass of wine -- the same he had deglazed the meal in -- and was sipping at it every once in a while, always from the same spot on the rim. Occasionally Will's eyes would dart to it.

"Are you supposed to have wine at work? Like, doesn't that make you tipsy?" The boy asked.

"While technically I'm not allowed to, such a small amount is unlikely to effect me in any measurable way. Wine has accompanied dinner for as long as man can remember."

"Oh." Hannibal could see Will constructing his question behind his eyes. "Could I have a taste? Uh -- just a little sip, is all." He looked down and to the side, blushing slightly.

"Of course." Will hadn't really expected such a simple answer, but Hannibal reached out towards him with glass in hand, the mark of his lips opposite Will.

Will grabbed the glass, uncertain how to hold it, and smelled it as he had seen Doctor Lecter do. The scent didn't really mean much to him. He tipped the glass against his lips. "You're sure this is fine to do?"

"My patients' privacy is of the utmost importance; no one else would know."

More wine than expected flowed into Will's mouth, hitting his tongue all at once. It was bittersweet, every bit as unpleasant as he had expected, but he was determined to come off as at least semi-sophisticated. He gulped it down like liquid medicine, but the aftertaste that remained was shockingly pleasant.

He took the glass back from his hands. "Now try the stew."

Will obeyed, and the resulting flavor was wonderful, the aftertaste mingling with the savouriness of the coq au vin. He figured he could get used to wine if it was with Hannibal's cooking. "Mmmm, that's really good -- thank you."

Doctor Lecter smiled. They finished their lunch across from each other, no more wine or words shared but not out of awkwardness so much as contentedness. He noted the way the boy was swaying slightly, pink slowly dominating his complexion: he swallowed a bit too much for someone his age, and whether it was the alcohol or more placebo, Will was clearly tipsy. Hannibal smiled to himself. When they finished, he returned everything to its proper place in the staff room (he memorized the imprint of the boy's soft lips before washing it), returning to find Will nodding off in his chair.

"This... might be a little weird, but, I... think I need a nap. Do you mind if, uh...." He trailed off. "I just can't really find a good napping place, and the woods are too bright to nod off in."

"Not at all. I still have time I was going to spend on paperwork. I'll be at my desk." Hannibal was glad for the distraction.

Will slipped into unconsciousness fairly quickly while Hannibal let the boy's teachers know he had an emergency situation and to excuse his absence. He let the receptionist know he wasn't available for the next few hours.

Doctor Lecter stood up from his seat, making his way over to the small form slumbering on his chair, limbs tangled so they could support his head, which had nodded downwards, facing his lap. Hannibal admired the sight, filing the memory away for later. He reached out towards him and snapped lightly, testing his response. The boy didn't stir. He swooped behind the chair like a bird of prey, holding his face closer. He needed to be sure he wouldn't wake the boy, so he reached out and touched his shoulder -- an easy action to find an excuse for if he _did_ awaken -- he didn't. Hannibal withdrew his hand, tracing his fingers lightly over the soft skin on Will's neck, pale and pink, supple.

Hannibal waited again, making absolutely sure Will was deep in his slumber. He arched down, a dark silhouette against the soft red ambient light. His eyes swirled black with barely-constrained lust. Will's curly brown hair met Hannibal's nose, loose strands brushing against his face. He breathed in deeply the pure, sweet smell, basking in the boy's radiance. He held the aroma in his nose, eyes closed, and slunk back into the shadows.

When Will finally started to stir awake, Hannibal was at his desk, turned to face the boy. Will roused as Doctor Lecter greeted him calmly and made sure he was ready to leave. He did not know that the gaze Hannibal was holding over him had gone nearly unbroken for the entire time he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love all your comments, they keep me smiling <3
> 
> I love cooking, but all my food is like wholesome stuff like curry and gumbo and shit, none of the fancy-shmancy french shit Hannibal is always talking about. Lil fuckin ratatouille bitch


	8. The Shrike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will makes a shocking connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally -- murder stuff!

After Will left Doctor Lecter's office and finished his classes, he felt much more calm. Still slightly on-edge, but the feeling of anxiety looming over him was largely dispelled. He strolled out the side door of the building and started walking towards the library -- he had an assignment that required a computer, and the near-quietness of the library would do him good, he figured.

When he arrived there, groups of students sat at tables in the centre, reading or discreetly talking. The old fluorescent lights above him buzzed, mingling with the hum of hushed voices into a softly-simmering din around him. He pushed it to the back of his mind and tried to focus on his assignment -- first, though, he'd have to find a computer to use. The more solitary computers had already been poached, leaving Will to sit at the long desk dotted with computer monitors along the back wall. He found his login information, scrawled on a too-large piece of paper folded into his bag's front pocket. He started by checking his email to see if Abigail replied to their conversation yet, smiling when he saw it at the top of his inbox, along with the standard start-of-the-week email from the school. He opened them both in new tabs.

> **From:** Abigail Hobbs
> 
> **Subject:** RE: Weekend
> 
> Sorry you couldn't come, but I get it. It was way too loud, you woulda hated it. But it was pretty fun seeing upperclassmen slam into each other! Mason Verger was actually playing, I think he twisted his ankle or something? If I knew that would happen, I would've brought a camera lol. Maybe u can sign his cast if he needs one. (If he does have a cast, write something mean where he can't see for me.)
> 
> My dad says u can come hunting next weekend, btw. Since he didn't take me this weekend I talked him into letting me bring a friend. Just lmk. We only have the two rifles, so we'd be sharing one btw. (Can I talk about weapons on school email? hopefully this isn't flagged lmao.)

Will started typing a response, cursor moving back and forth to revise his wording, until he eventually stopped. He froze up, worrying about how to respond: _a simple response -- but would it come off too cold? Okay so, what could carry on a conversation? Does she even want a conversation?_ He switched to the other tab while he (ignored it) mulled it over.

Emails from the school were typically dry, clearly made from a stale template and always followed by fliers for all the upcoming public events. This one was different, though. Rather than the usual cheery hello, it started on a more subdued greeting, exclamation points no longer saturating the text. It was addressing a recent news story: a girl -- Elise Nichols -- had gone missing on Friday from a neighbouring school's campus. No one saw anything. The following night, she was returned to her bedroom, again without anyone noticing. She was killed. The email didn't go any deeper on the case, instead advising students to be careful and sharing relevant resources, and so on.

Will navigated to the local news, finding an article on the incident. Apparently the FBI was getting involved, linking it to a string of murders across the East half of the country. The newspaper dubbed the killer _The Shrike._ There was a link to their source, a site called Tattlecrime.com.

He abandoned the more formal article, diving into a strange website littered with ads and clickbait. But among all the nonsense was a more detailed description of what happened, as well as pictures that had apparently been leaked from the FBI. Will hesitated when he scrolled down to see the top of the first picture, opting instead to linger on the text first. He didn't notice, but his heart rate was rising.

Elise Nichols had been the eighth in a series of girls all taken from their school campuses later in the day, all with brown hair, blue eyes, same approximate height weight and age. Elise was different though: she was the only one ever found. Her wounds were strange; antler velvet was found in the wounds whose pattern matched that of an elk's horns, possibly killed by stabbing. There was another interesting detail, too -- she had been bled, and her kidney was removed and sewn back in. No other physical evidence was found, no saliva or semen or even bits of skin beneath her nails. They couldn't tell who did it.

Information besides was sparse. Will glanced around him, seeing if anyone had their eyes on him. There were no teachers around, and other students payed him no mind, but he still shrunk the window down as small as possible so he could shelter the pictures behind his body should anyone get curious. He slowly scrolled back down to the images, discarding the content warning. His first thought was of how similar she looked to Abigail. Wind-chafed, a bit rugged but very pretty. She almost looked asleep, face at peace, but more rubbery, slipping into the uncanny valley. She was unnaturally pale now, decomposition encroached on her flesh. She had been bled.

Will had only seen his parents' corpses before. This one was different. He could imagine her final moments, but he didn't sense any agony in it. (Physically, at least; he couldn't bare to imagine what horrible thoughts she eked out before dying.) Her death had been swift, painless, even merciful. The killer had treasured her, perhaps even loved her. There hadn't been any sign of sexual assault though; this wasn't that kind of love. It was more... familial. All these girls, middle- and high-schoolers, taking those first steps into adulthood and independence.... The killer was afraid of losing his daughter.

He scrolled back up, breaking eye contact with the picture of the girl who looked so similar to Abigail. He could feel the killer's possessiveness lingering through the picture still, a possessiveness he felt in smaller doses from Garret Jacob Hobbs. Will felt sick to his stomach. _It's just some uneducated guessing, it means nothing,_ he told himself.

He clicked a button to subscribe to updates on the story, putting in his school email address. He typed a hollow response to Abigail, saying he'd think about going over. It's not like he could tell her about this, and he was sure it was illogical besides. He closed the browser without looking at the rest of the pictures.

* * *

That night, darkness oozed into Will's dreams. He stirred under the covers of his bunk bed, unable to rest. He turned to his other side, and suddenly found himself facing the body of Elise Nichols. He couldn't move. He was staring at it, chest unmoving, heartbeat silent, all the minuscule noises of life snuffed out. There was a maddening silence around them, black and hostile, the bed he lay in offering no shelter. Elise started ascending, floating upwards as if a bloating corpse at sea, sheets dripping from her body as she rose; antlers sprouted from her corpse and--

And Will awoke, sheets drenched through. He sat up sharply, hitting his head against the ceiling. He tore off his shirt, wiping off what sweat the wet thing could absorb. His sweat puddled on the side of the bed he was on, so he rolled over to the dry side Elise had occupied in his dream. He didn't fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that my twitter is @HeartsickHand, and my DMs are open so please feel free to talk, share ideas, etc. Socialization is hard (Will is just my self-insert after all so that's that) but I wanna make friends & talk abt writing and stuff iiiiidk. Love y'all, shit's gonna pick up now


	9. Session Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will shares his suspicions with Doctor Lecter, who is more than happy to help -- even if it means bolstering Will's paranoia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If it wasn't clear from the Hannibal chapter, we skipped thru a few weeks. Thus the session number jumping.)

Will tapped his foot anxiously on the dense carpeting outside Doctor Lecter's office. He had arrived early hoping that the patient before him wouldn't take their whole allotted time, but he had no such luck. It was just about 3:30 by the time the door opened and a student walked out and away.

"You're early," Doctor Lecter observed.

"Sorry. I uh, can wait out here until four if you want...."

Hannibal could hear the trembling fear in the boy's voice. "Please, come in." He normally made his patients wait until their appointed time, but Will was special. He held the door open, watching how Will's legs trembled as he stood up from his chair and sheepishly smuggle himself into the office.

"I'm sorry I've been such a mess lately, I tried to avoid coming again out of nowhere, but I'm.... I-it's hard to explain." He blinked back tears and started breathing more regularly. "Have you heard of what happened to Elise Nichols?"

Doctor Lecter clicked his tongue and paused a moment, contemplating his approach to the situation. "The latest victim of the killer known as 'The Shrike', found dead in her room."

Will nodded softly. He held his hands together and his head down as he conjured the courage to speak. What would Hannibal think? Probably that it's just paranoia, an illogical jump that his mind made despite itself, seeking to cause harm to his mental state. _But telling him is the right step, right? If I'm just being paranoid, at least I'll know that way...._ Eventually, he forced the words out. "I think Abigail's dad is the killer." His words were hushed, muttered. He felt like a wannabe detective without the strength to believe in what he was saying, like an embarrassing kid getting worried over nothing.

"What makes you think that?" He cocked his head.

"The girls, they all look like Abigail... same age, everything." He hesitated. "There's... something _off_ about Mr. Hobbs. His eyes, they were like... venom. He's a hunter, I know he hunts alone sometimes... he'd be able to kill a little girl. They found antler felt in her wounds, and I know he has plenty of antlers...." He trailed off, then suddenly felt the need to defend himself. "I-i-it's just a theory, but... it feels right. I look at those pictures and I look at Garret Jacob Hobbs, and I feel the _same thing._ A kind of possessiveness, a kind of love, even, for the victim... but it's like there's a dark chill howling beneath his skin."

"You mentioned love."

"Y'know, antler felt promotes healing. He was trying to _fix_ her."

"A compassionate killer?"

Will nodded. "If we suppose Abigail is the one he's trying to simulate, yeah. He loves her. The murders started happening around the time Abigail was about to start at a boarding school.... He doesn't want to lose her." He paused to gather his thoughts. "He returned Elise because he felt bad, that -- that he couldn't give _her_ what he gave the others."

Hannibal nodded. The boy had a talent for this. "Recent autopsy reports reveal her liver had been cut out and replaced."

"I read that, yeah. Liver cancer." The loose threads in his mind were being woven together, forming an ever-stronger image of the killer -- of Garret Jacob Hobbs. His stomach sank as he came to a realization. "He's eating them. Honoring them, every part, like a... a deer. The Hobbs, they use every part they can. He returned her because the meat was tainted. He--" Will was feeling what he imagined the killer felt. It was disgusting. "He was remorseful he couldn't give that to her. He tried to heal what damage he did, tried to give her some kind of peace in death he couldn't provide."

"A hunter such as Mr. Hobbs would have experience butchering and processing bodies. He likely owns a cabin, somewhere he can perform his consecration in peace."

Will took a deep breath, trying to pull himself back out of the killer's mindset. "Shouldn't you be telling me this is all paranoia? Jumps in logic?"

Doctor Lecter smiled slightly. "The jumps in logic are explained by the evidence. You've built a shockingly clear profile of this killer, Will; I'm impressed. Your ability to empathize with the killer allows you unique insight, even at your age."

"Well, it's not exactly comfortable in someone else's skin. I've been having nightmares about it all week, grim visions of what happened to Elise -- and what might happen to Abigail... or me. I was invited to go hunting with the Hobbs this weekend."

"Did you accept?"

"Not yet. I haven't decided."

Hannibal softly clicked his tongue. "This killer strikes every four weeks. That gives you three weekends before another kidnapping. You have time to investigate."

Will let out an agonized smile. "It means I have a deadline too. The killer will be more on-edge now: his pattern is broken. The next one could be Abigail."

"The only way to find out if Hobbs is the killer or not is to be near him. One must enter the den if he is to understand the lion."

"I'm afraid I don't have any way to protect myself if it decides to maul me."

Hannibal tilted his head. "You would be risking your wellbeing for Abigail's."

Will was silent, letting the doctor's words sink into him. He knew he wasn't the target; he just had to stay out of Hobbs's way -- he just had to confirm (or deny, though the latter option was ever-diminishing in his mind) before Mr. Hobbs tried anything. Three weeks. Will's resolve solidified slightly with Hannibal's support. He told himself that if Abigail needed saving, he could do it. He'd find a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be slowing down with upcoming chapters a little bit, because things will be getting more complicated and I'm gonna have to use my noodle to keep it all straight. Sorry in advance for any inconsistencies, again, I'll edit the whole thing for better pacing once I finish, reposting it all at once or something. I check back for keeping things consistent, but it'd take even longer to plan it out so much and tbh,,, I just don't have that energy rn lol.


	10. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's determination to save Abigail forces him to get closer to Mr. Hobbs than he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sad Will, but Determined Will is also so hot. Why not both?

The sun was setting even sooner than yesterday. Will squinted the low orange glow from his eyes to watch the parking lot for Mr. Hobbs. Abigail sat beside him, idly thumbing her phone as they waited. Eventually the grey SUV pulled up in front of them, Mr. Hobbs disguised as a silhouette in the window. Will sketched the license-plate number down in his booklet, behind the front cover, before he got in. He sat behind Mr. Hobbs this time.

As Garret Jacob Hobbs explained their plan for the next day and gave half-hearted lectures on safety, Will had his eyes out the window. He made note of the turns they took, committing the directions to the Hobbs house to memory as strongly as he could manage. The ride wasn't as long as he thought, being, in fact, hardly longer than he would have considered walking range -- he could push himself to make the trip if he needed to.

The Hobbs family had a meager dinner prepared: mashed potatoes (a bit dry and under-seasoned), steak, assorted vegetables.... Will nibbled on the greens, mixing them with the potatoes and a generous sprinkling of salt. He avoided the meat. When asked about his appetite, Will said he had a late lunch, and he simply wasn't hungry.

"Go ahead, have a little bit of the steak sweetie. You'll need your calories for hunting tomorrow! Besides, you're too tiny," Mrs. Hobbs insisted.

Will glanced over at Mr. Hobbs, who was eating his steak unceremoniously. _Had he hunted this meat? It was over a month since he would have had fresh meat, assuming he was the shrike... surely not_ all _of the meat is human...._ Will forced the food down his throat. It had exactly the flavor you would assume a steak would have, which calmed his nerves slightly -- if it tasted like pork, he might not have managed.

* * *

Will lay on the couch in the living room, the house's ambience carrying his anxieties into his ears and keeping him from sleep. His mind turned to questions: why was he doing this, why not call the FBI, how could he even figure things out. When he asked himself these questions, answers floated up from the inky well of his mind like the diviner in a magic 8 ball, making a kind of half-sense. He didn't want to put Abigail's family through anything; he still had time to figure things out; he didn't want it to be true; he didn't have proof; answers that justified the boy's confused efforts in his mind. But Doctor Lecter supported it, so it was okay, right?

For a while, Will tried to force himself down into slumber, only to spring back up like a basketball forced underwater. He drifted on its surface, waiting to sink, knowing he wouldn't, until he could no longer bear the cacophony of thoughts. He slid out from under the soft blanket Abigail's mother had given him and got up, then padded onto the hardwood landing at the bottom of the stairs. He stood breathless, listening for footsteps, creeks, coughs -- any sign of the Hobbs being awake. After he was convinced he was the only one up, he made his move. He was too scared to go upstairs, being unfamiliar with the portion of the house: he'd make due with the rooms downstairs.

The office at the foot of the stairs was off-limits to Will, but it had no lock on it. He gently pressed down on the handle, terrified of betraying himself. The door swung easily on its hinge, revealing a room stuffed with a large corner desk and potted plants. It didn't take long to find a large calendar (he figured correctly that Mrs. Hobbs would have more detailed date-keeping than her husband). He went back a few months to the date of the first murder. The weekend was marked with a deep red pen, labelled _Hunting Trip_ \-- nothing about whether or not it was Mr. Hobbs alone or not. In fact, most weekends were marked as hunting trips. Will flipped forward to the start of school, where Abigail's departure was noted, figuring that any visits would be marked. He scanned through the calendar, able to infer when Abigail was with her father. On the weekends the recent victims went missing, Garret Jacob Hobbs was hunting alone.

Will took cursory glances through the rest of the room, but abandoned the effort when he realized that any other potential proof in there would be on the computer, which he was certain he couldn't get into. He replaced the door and slowly let the latch bolt slide into place. He moved carefully down the hallway, past the bathroom, towards Abigail's and the utility room. As he made his way down the hallway, moving carefully as to not wake Abigail, he peeked through the crack left in her doorway. He could see her there, on the bed, calm and still, pale in the moonlight filtered through her windows.

Breath quickening with anxiety, Will reached the door of the utility room. He extended an unsteady hand, starting but failing to turn the knob. He could tell by looking at the handle that it was just a privacy lock that could be defeated by a paperclip. He headed back to the bathroom to see if he could find a bobby pin. As he passed, he glanced in to check on Abigail again, knowing nothing would have changed in such a small time but nervous nonetheless. She was still there, lying on her back, placidly sleeping.

It didn't take long to find a bobby pin among the bathroom's drawers. Will started to head back, but decided he'd better empty his bladder in case he got too scared. As soon as he relieved himself and flushed, he regretted it -- the plumbing howled and surged, and the house didn't have a dorm's noise insulation. He held his breath and waited at the foot of the stairs again, being sure nobody had been awakened by the noise. When he was satisfied no one was awake, he straightened the bobby pin out of shape and headed back. He looked in to see if Abigail was awake. She was there, still. Still. So, so still; so, so similar.... Will's heart raced, half-convinced it was Elise Nichols in that bed.

He swallowed his fears and moved up to the door. He slid the pin into the small opening, found the release, and pressed it with a shockingly stiff _click_. Will paused a moment, and opened the door.

The room had a few bare light bulbs illuminating the unfinished walls, shadows of pipes and planks dancing. There were tools, ranging from domestic snow shovels to the more unnerving saws and power tools, nothing unusual for basements though. There was a scratched wooden worktable, scattered on top were various DIY projects. There were containers labelled "pipe putty", bits of antler, scraps of whittled bone. Mr. Hobbs wasn't lying when he said he used every part of his prey.

Will didn't find anything incriminating, despite how unnerved he was by it. No evidence, but that space had imparted in it the soul of Garret Jacob Hobbs -- a small part of him Will wasn't meant to see. He closed the door, careful to silently slide the door and latch back into place.

He tip-toed back towards the living room, tired physically and emotionally. He wrapped himself up in his blanket, arms wrapped around his slim torso. He finally deflated and sank down into dreams.

* * *

The Hobbs woke up early, around five. Mrs. Hobbs made the kids breakfast (a brand of frozen breakfast sausage Will was particularly fond of, fluffy scrambled eggs, and freezer hash browns) and packed them lunch (for Will, a peanut-butter sandwich with crusts removed, a yellow apple, and some trail mix), and her husband packed the car with everything they needed.

The ride out into the woods was long and winding. Disorienting. Pine trees and fog mixed, silhouetting the strong antlers of the occasional buck against the mist. Will wasn't sure if he could bring himself to hunt a deer.

As they got closer to their destination, Mr. Hobbs began on a lecture about gun safety. Never point a gun at another person, keep safety on, all the basics.

"Remember: don't take the safety off unless you're ready to fire." Will thought he registered in his peripheral Garret Jacob Hobbs staring at him through the mirror.

They drove until the pine trees fell away to grass, mist settled in the folds of the hills. Then smaller saplings and younger trees, then tall and old trees, weathered and reddening. Collapsed and rotting trunks were absorbed by the soil and foliage. The fog was clear by the time their road split off and ended in the middle of the woods.

They made their way out to a clearing for target practice. Mr. Hobbs shared stories about his biggest trophies, talking about the deer and how beautiful they were. He described them with respect, personifying them to an uncomfortable amount -- he clearly cared about them and respected them. His words painted them as half human, to the point you almost forgot that what he did to them, and Will knew he'd feel the same way about his victims.

At the edge of the clearing, they stacked rocks on a tree stump for target practice. Will was given a hunting rifle, shown the safety, and left to do his best to hit one of the rocks. It took a few tries, but eventually he was managing to hit nearer and more often.

When they had all been hunting together in relative silence for a few hours, they returned to the clearing and ate their lunches. Mr. Hobbs placed the rabbits and squirrels they managed to shoot in the cooler. Will had shot one of them, but the Hobbs' praise did nothing to ease his conscience. _It's okay,_ he had said. _We'll honor every part of her. It's not murder._ Will supposed he was right, hunting _was_ a part of nature, but he couldn't help but feel rotten. He had stayed quiet since then, mostly letting the Hobbs talk while he lagged behind. He listened in on their conversations about school and work and home life, bland but laced with familial love.

After they ate lunch, Mr. Hobbs stated that he would be hunting in his stand, and that the two kids could go off on their own, gun shared between them. They agreed to meet back at the clearing before sunset and headed off.

Will still felt wrong from the rabbit he killed, and there was little conversation between the pair. Abigail got a few more small game, and before they knew it the beams of light were descending at an angle. An orange-pink radiance hung over the autumn leaves, dimming beams of light piercing through the canopy. Leaves were beginning to fall, and the crunches beneath his feet sounded like bones cracking. Abigail's footsteps stopped -- she was standing still, slowly reaching for her gun. A doe stood in the distance, grazing on the drying grass. Its ears twitched with the breeze, her chest swelled with life. Illuminated in the dying light, she left Will speechless. Abigail raised her rifle to meet it.

" _Don't_ ," Will whispered. His voice was louder than anything in the forest.

"Why not?" Abigail looked at him questioningly.

"It's... beautiful."

"She is. So we'll respect her, put every part to use. They kind of become a part of you in that way." Her finger reached up to switch safety off.

Will didn't know how to respond. Obviously there's nothing wrong with hunting, but... he couldn't bring himself to justify killing an innocent animal.

Abigail sighed and lined up the shot. Her finger moved to the trigger--

Will pushed her to the side as her finger was squeezing, and her shot rang out harmlessly into the air. Abigail hit the ground, and the deer ran out of sight.

"What the fuck!?" She pushed herself off the ground, and Will shrunk down.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Will whimpered.

Abigail's face began to soften. "Sorry, no, you clearly aren't cut out to hunt."

The boy sniffled and wiped his face.

Abigail started moving back down the trail. "Come on, it's getting late."

They arrived at the clearing and met Mr. Hobbs, who had been waiting only a few minutes. "So, no big game huh," he said.

"No, nothin'," Abigail responded. Will was scared she was holding onto some frustration, but he relaxed a bit. He felt embarrassed for being so emotional in front of her.

Mr. Hobbs hitched his deer to the front of the vehicle, and they were soon off to home. They ate dinner together (pizza) after unloading everything. Then when they were finished, Mrs. Hobbs drove Will back to his dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The house layout is basically just my childhood friend's lol. sorry for draggin ur house into this bud  
> anyways, WOO! double-digit chapter !! woo!! good job, me. Also, already two thousand hits!? That's amazing! Thank you all so much! UwU


	11. Session Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Doctor Lecter discuss the boy's investigation. Two weekends remain before the Shrike takes another victim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So,,, apparently pages are usually like 500 words which makes this like 35-ish pages so far and im kinda wigged out, how did a month and so much writing pass by so fast?  
> Anyways, I added some new additional warnings. Nothing too big, I don't think, but if you've been reading for a while, be sure to check again.  
> Sorry this one took a bit, I haven't been able to work on it much for the last few days, even tho this chapter is short... I figured out a lot that's gonna happen (for like the next 20 chapters at least) tho,, so that's good. I'm proud of where the story's going.

Will paced back and forth behind his chair opposite Doctor Lecter, lost in his own mind. Anxiety nibbled at his ankles, voracious and active.

"Are you sure it's safe for me to be doing this on my own?"

"I never said it was."

"Then why haven't you stopped me?"

Hannibal cocked his head to the side. "I trust you to make your own decisions. However, I would be more at-ease knowing you had a way to contact the authorities should you need to. Do you have a phone, Will?"

Will clicked his tongue. "No, I don't actually."

"Will you be seeing the Hobbs this weekend?"

"No."

"That leaves one more weekend you can investigate," he observed. "What will you do if the burden of proof is not met?"

"I... don't know. I don't want to tear their family apart over something like that, but I don't want Abigail to get hurt."

"Accusations like that, along with the striking resemblance of the victims to Abigail, might seep into their family like poison."

"I'll decide when the time is closer. There's still a while left...." Will's pacing grew faster. "Besides, who knows if they'd believe me. All I have is my instincts."

"Have you warned Abigail of the danger?"

The boy laughed, but not out of amusement. "If I did, she'd just huddle up with dad. If I told her I thought he was the killer, she'd hate me."

"You intend to solve this problem yourself." It was less of a question and more of an observation.

"If that's what it takes."

Doctor Lecter smiled at the boy's bravery and foolishness.

* * *

Saturday evening, Will sat in the small clearing, leaves rustling and falling around him. He cursed at himself for being unable to do anything. He had one more chance though: next weekend, Abigail had invited him to go camping before the weather got bad. She had practically begged her father to go one last time, and _did_ beg to let Will come along too.

Will wasn't used to people inviting him places. He hardly had any friends, and usually he was just tagging along in the background. But with Abigail, there was something more there: a shared bond over nature, and a kind of relationship where they didn't really have to talk. They were content watching nature, for the most part. It was the most natural any of his friendships seemed, even if it wasn't a super deep one yet, and he wanted to hold onto it with all his might.

His homework lay crumpled in his bag, neglected and half-forgotten. Despite not being able to do anything for Abigail, doing anything _else_ felt wrong. So he sat there, in his private sanctuary, mind fixated on the Shrike's victims. He saw them around him, falling with the decaying leaves onto the ground. Beautiful but dead. They lay there on the ground, raked up into a pile before him, Elise Nichols at the top. He stared into her eyes, pleading against her early death. The fear and regret of everything welling up behind her eyes, but unable to leave through tears. Then, from above, came Abigail's body. It floated down onto the pile, sprouting antlers from her chest. _It's your fault. It's your fault, it's your--_

Will snapped up from his dream. There was no pile of bodies, though he still felt the weight of it on the forest floor. The sun had already set. He stood up, conscious but unthinking: his self-awareness shrunk into the back of his mind to avoid the world. In time, he was back in bed. He lay there all night, unable to face the horrors in his subconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!! 100 kudos and 2k hits! I'm blown away <3  
> Let me know what y'all think is gonna happen. I already decided, of course, but I'm curious what you think!


	12. Session Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds he isn't so alone in his struggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao didnt i just say i was gonna wait longer between chapters? i havent pumped a chapter out as easily in a while.

Will made his way through the cafeteria lines, grabbing a sandwich and some fruit, and then pushing the food away in his bag. He had missed his opportunity to come early and so was forced to ford the crowd when everybody else was, filling the room with a cacophony of squealing and murmuring voices. Will had mindlessly carried out the task, eyes focused beyond the horizon and all other senses blunted. In self-defence from the noise, he shrunk away from the world and let his lizard brain take control.

He wandered this way out of the building, following the sparse flow of students and only barely noticing the sidewalk below him, despite being transfixed on it. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Garret Jacob Hobbs -- no, just an illusion, there for an instant then gone. Nonetheless, the apparition startled Will, distracting him. He didn't expect someone to run straight into him.

The sudden figure was struck by the boy's shoulder and head, clamping Will's teeth down and scraping the sides of his tongue. He was shocked back to the driver's seat, not finding the time or courage to look up before the scruff of his neck was grabbed, forcing Will to wince upwards in instinctual self-defence.

"Now look at _you_! You look _just_ like a sad little lost puppy." He laughed at his own joke.

Despite his eyes being winced closed, Will could tell it was Mason Verger. _Shit_. He tried to conceal a cry welling up in his throat.

The upperclassman shook his arm, pinching Will's neck and forcing him to let out a yelp. Mason's snide grin festered across his face, and a cruel laugh shook out from it. "You know, papa didn't like dogs too much. Filthy animals, really, but great deterrence if you train them right. But you, you don't look like you have a single fang in you." A thick finger pushed into Will's mouth, prying it open to reveal his teeth. "Though who knows, maybe you could still be taught a thing or two."

Will tugged and slapped at Mason's arm, but the larger boy was overpowering. He thrashed about trying to shake loose, but he was being handled too roughly, and he gave up. He blinked back tears, some slipping down his cheek. Mason exclaimed at the waterworks, pulling back his hand and returning with a small cloth square. He soaked one of Will's tears into it and retracted his hand again, storing it away. "There we go," he said.

As Will continued to struggle, the few bystanders not interfering, he grew more flushed and embarrassed. Mason still held on, piggish face squealing in delight at the boy's pain. Just then, a hand extended from beside them and hit Mason with an open palm. "Fuck off, pig," Abigail demanded. Will had never been so happy to see her.

"Well well well, looks like your owner has come to rescue you, eh little pup?" Mason pushed Will forward onto his knees and raised his palms as if innocent. "I'll just be on my way then," he said with a chuckle.

Abigail flipped him off and bent down to help Will up. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." He struggled to meet her eyes, grateful but embarrassed to be caught in such a state.

"Let's go, before any teachers are heading out to check up about it." She walked slowly with Will, making sure he could stay upright, until he could go on his own.

They made it through to the private clearing, leaves littering their hair from the walk. The wind rustled the leaves, shaking calming music from the branches. Squirrels were stashing acorns away, preparing for the colder weather, chittering between themselves. The two sat on the bench with its dedication missing, eating without a word as they coalesced with nature. They felt connected with the roots of the trees, filled by the wind. They felt connected to each other through the forest.

* * *

The door to Doctor Lecter's office swung open silently on its hinges. Will was beckoned inside, where he took his usual seat. Entering the room was no longer awkward for him, as it had been with every other school counsellor. Hannibal sat across from the boy, crossing his legs.

"Good afternoon, Will."

"Good afternoon."

Silence sat between them for a few moments. "How was your week," the doctor inquired.

"Well, Mason Verger went after me again yesterday" he said, looking down at his knees. They had only just stopped aching.

"Tell me what happened."

Will recounted the event to Doctor Lecter, who nodded at the appropriate times and stayed silent throughout.

Hannibal switched the direction his legs crossed, somehow doing it more gracefully than Will thought possible. "How did you feel when Mason grabbed you?"

"Like.... Like a snake being grabbed by its neck."

"Heterodon platirhinos plays dead while threatened. It will hiss, but it never bites," Doctor Lecter explained. "It also happens to be endangered."

Will smirked slightly. "Are you telling me I'm endangered?"

"You have to be able to fight back when threatened. It's a basic tool of survival."

"But I don't want to get in trouble," he retorted.

"Looking for fights would be unwise. That said, you should be able to defend yourself if need be."

"I wanted to."

Hannibal's ears perked.

"I figured out I was too weak to do anything, so I stayed quiet. But when he grabbed me, I wanted to -- I don't know...." The boy's soft hands wrung together.

Lecter cocked his head. "Go on," he prompted.

"For a moment, I just wanted to gut him. To tackle him to the floor and punch him, kick him." Will's upper lip shook, baring his teeth and revealing to Hannibal that one of his first molars was missing, the adult tooth beneath starting to sprout. " _I wanted to smash his nose in like a pig's._ " With the confession of rage, Will's breathing slowed again and he started to calm down. "Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Such feelings are natural." Hannibal wished the boy's eyes had reached his as he professed his anger, seen the blue oceans boil and froth, churning with his blood.

"Really?"

"Rest assured."

Will sat and gathered his thoughts, hands growing more calm and pensive as he did. Hannibal sat across, gathering his thoughts into his notebook with great detail and in sumptuous script. The doctor's mind was filled to the brim with ideas, overflowing with curiosity. When the silence sat between them long enough, Will changed the subject.

"I'm scared about this weekend." His voice wavered and cracked at the end of his sentence.

"You feel as if you're walking into the mongoose den with no fangs."

"Exactly." Will swallowed before asking the next question. "Should I bring a knife?"

The counsellor cocked his head. "Would it make you feel safer?"

"Yeah...."

Hannibal let the dead air linger for a moment before he responded. "As your therapist I suggest you do whatever makes you feel safe."

Will looked up at the man for a precious second. "Thank you," he said. His words were tinged with genuine appreciation. He felt like Doctor Lecter respected him and cared about him.

"I'd like to give you something," Hannibal said. He reached into his blue-checkered jacket and pulled out a small black burner phone. He extended it out to Will. "You said you didn't have a way to contact authorities. I figured I should fix that."

"W-wow, thanks. You didn't have to do that for me." He turned on the phone, briefly familiarizing himself with it. He checked the contacts, seeing an entry for Hannibal Lecter containing his phone number.

Doctor Lecter smiled at Will. "I'm just concerned for your safety." He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. "It only has limited minutes and texts, but more than enough for your needs. I'd recommend you have a way to contact Abigail too." Will was smiling, relieved to have some small safety. Hannibal continued. "There is also GPS tracking, that way you can send your location in an emergency." He withheld from Will that he could also access his location whenever he desired.

Will nodded and slipped the phone into his bag. "Thank you, really," he said.

Hannibal nodded in response. They still had a reasonable amount of time left, so he sat and waited for Will to start talking. He knew that pressuring Will to speak wouldn't help speed the process. Instead of going into a more pensive state, however, Will's eyes drifted off into the middle-distance. Emotion fell from his face and his posture slumped, clearly awake but not quite _there_. Doctor Lecter leaned forward and snapped in front of Will, plunging him back into consciousness.

"... Oh, sorry." He shook his head slightly. "I kinda... drifted away."

"You were dissociating."

"Dissociating?"

Hannibal resettled in his chair and prepared to explain. "When confronted with trauma, the human mind responds in many ways. One of these self-preservation techniques involves severing yourself from your senses and feelings, allowing your subconscious to handle life when you cannot."

Will blinked. "Yeah, I... think I've been doing that a lot recently.... It's like, watching my own actions from the bottom of a pool."

"How long has this been happening?"

"When do you think it started," Will replied semi-sarcastically.

Doctor Lecter nodded. "This business with the Shrike is no simple thing for a young mind to handle alone."

Will nodded, but he didn't say anything. Hannibal sat, watching him, waiting for him to speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure when the next chapter will be out. Shooting for in-a-week, we'll see. Could be sooner idk


	13. The Camping Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final weekend before the Shrike kills again, and Will struggles to find a way to help Abigail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a little intense -- or should I say, in-tents! Big thanks to my friend for helping with this chapter <3, it's a long (and good?) one!

The sparsely-populated campground that the three Hobbs and Will Graham found themselves in was surrounded by forest, with long stretches of dirt road and plenty of lots. Autumn breezes chased away most of the vacationers, so despite being a weekend of decent weather, there were only a few people here and there. The spot Mr. Hobbs chose was particularly isolated, located at the end of the road where the hiking trails began. The grey SUV rolled into the dirt patch beside a not-too-recently mowed plot, and they all started to unpack.

The tent was large and relatively complex -- evidently the Hobbs went camping a lot. There was a central room along with two smaller auxiliary ones, for the parents and children respectively. Tools were stored in the centre, along with the more valuable camping gear and whatnot. In and amongst the piles was a folding knife, one that clicked out into place, that seemed to go untouched throughout the entire moving process. Will felt the weight of the cellphone against his thigh, a safety net for trouble, but one that was too loose: out in the woods, calling for help wouldn't be reliable unless he had time.... Time that a killer wouldn't grant. _Would anyone notice if it was gone?_ He nervously paced, hovering close to the knife and looking for an opportunity to grab it. Whenever he got close to working up the nerve, someone would come in -- or Will would imagine someone about to come in -- and he would bail. Abigail and Will were in their portion of the tent, setting up their cots. Will had been silent most of the day, working up the courage to ask her a question.

"Have you ever noticed anything... off, about your dad," he asked meekly, doing his best to pass it off as casual.

"What do you mean?" She turned to look at him, stopping halfway through smoothing out her sheets. "Did he intimidate you or something?"

"Something like that...."

Abigail scoffed lightly and she continued to make her bed. "He does that sometimes. He means well, really -- I suppose that's just dads."

Will nodded and hummed to give the impression it was a satisfactory answer; he didn't want to push it.

After the cots were ready and their stuff was organized in their section, Abigail opened the door and ducked under into the main area. Garrett Jacob Hobbs was there, organizing the pile of camping supplies. Will never heard him enter, and he didn't make any noise, simply nodding at his daughter as she passed. The rest of the time unpacking, Will could feel his eyes bore into him.

* * *

The day spent camping was fun. They all went fishing, and Will caught the most fish. In the end Mr. Hobbs had caught two -- one too small to keep -- and Mrs. Hobbs caught one. Abigail caught none, which her father teased her for playfully. ( _Better at being bait than fishing,_ he had said.) The parents prepared lunch while the kids explored the park.

After lunch the pair were left to their own devices, and Will was given a moment to himself to change into swim trunks -- Abigail whisked them away to the camp's in-ground pool. He noticed that the knife was still untouched among the rest of the junk, and while he still had the chance, he dug it out, stuffing it into his shorts before leaving so it would already be on him when he changed back into them. He took a deep breath, unzipped the tent, and ran off to have his fun with Abigail.

They swam for a bit, sharing stories of classmates and teachers until they got called back for dinner. The smell of the barbecue grew stronger as they approached, and they were greeted with hot dogs, burgers, and grilled corn. Will figured the hot dogs looked store-bought, so he ate several. After dinner they made s'mores, stuffing down as much as they could. For an hour or so they all sat around the fire, parents sipping beer, while Will tried to perfect his marshmallow-cooking technique.

By the time the kids were done eating, night was falling and the fire was dying, so Mrs. Hobbs retired to the tent. Mr. Hobbs declared he'd be in soon, but that he wanted to stay and watch the stars come out for a while while he finished his beer. "Can Will and I go for a walk?" Abigail asked, still not tired and striking at the opportunity to experience more nature. Will cringed at the suggestion, his feet already fairly tired from the day's activities, but he didn't say anything -- maybe he could find out more about her dad in private.

"Of course darling," Mr. Hobbs responded. He gave Abigail's hair a quick rustle.

So Abigail picked a trail, slightly-overgrown but still mapped, to walk down. The dim orange glow of dusk lit their way, filtering through the trees and onto the undergrowth. Will could imagine Hobbs lurking behind the bark, waiting to strike.

Abigail piped up. "Do you trick-or-treat?"

"Oh, uh, no -- not really. W...why?"

"Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come with me this year. I could use someone to dress up with me, and I don't think I want to do it with my dad this year."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Do you like Star Wars?"

"Yeah no shit, everyone does," he replied.

"Okay, good. I'm going as Han Solo and I need a Chewbacca."

Will chuckled. "You want me to be Chewbacca?"

Abigail have a friendly laugh in response. "You'd be _good!_ You've got shaggy hair! I'll have my mom make the rest of the costume."

"Fine, fine; I'll be a _Wookiee,_ " he laughed. "I normally just go as some generic thing anyways, if I do go. It'll be nice to change it up."

"You can be princess Leia instead, if you want," she teased.

Will smiled and waved his hand in response. He tried to play the reaction off as casual, but the invitation meant a lot to him.

As the sun set, the pair switched to flashlights to see. Long shadows were cast across the woods, twisting on fallen branches and hilly ground. Will's eyes played tricks on him, displaying antlers and men in the stray light; corpses lay among the fallen trees. He did his best to force Garrett Jacob Hobbs from his mind, but the lack of evidence he had gathered thus-far weighed on him. _Was I wrong? Or am I just not good enough at finding him out?_ He grasped the knife in his pocket for reassurance. Either way, he felt something dark from Abigail's father. He could swear there was a pair of footsteps crunching in the distance, dashing between trees and lurking in the moon-cast shadows. Abigail moved through the brush almost silently, avoiding the plants and twigs almost instinctively, like a deer, even in the dark. She gave off the air of being a huntress, but Will could only worry about her being the prey for something more predatory.

After a while spent in silence and dark, Abigail spoke up. "Do you know any scary stories?"

"Yeah, kinda." He paused. "...Maybe not actually. You go first."

"Okay, but I'll warn you: it's pretty spooky! You ready?"

"Give it a shot, sure." Will didn't want to admit that he wasn't quite in the mood, but he figured that as long as he wasn't making progress anyways, he might as well have some good old-fashioned fun.

Abigail took a deep breath and prepared her story. "Okay, so...

"Legend has it that _these very woods_ are cursed: the children who run into these woods unattended, on nights like tonight where the moon pierces the clouds, never return! It's said that the paths begin to change and bend, trapping the lonesome until they're too scared and lost to find their way out. These children weave between trees and scream for help, but it never comes. The trees trap them, disorient them, until they're left crying against a fallen log, with nothing left to do but pray for a rescue that never comes.

"Searches of the area don't reveal _any_ trace of the kids who disappear, but that doesn't always stop the parents. They might check back every once in a while, scanning the trees and imagining their lost ones. And when they're at the depths of despair... they finally see their child again. You see, all the parents who return report that finding them -- mounted on antlers, strung up _high_ in the woods, tangled in branches... and dead!

"The rumour is that a man stalks these grounds, waiting for easy prey. The police have never found him, not even a single bit of evidence that he exists, but the children know.... You might see them yourself, up in the canopy, staring down at you! If you could talk to them and ask them what happened, there's just one thing they'd say: _you're next!_ " With the final words, Abigail leapt back towards Will, grabbing him!

He jumped slightly, but didn't scream. Despite the small physical reaction, Will _was_ scared. Not in the startled, entertained way a story was meant to, but a dry fluttering fear. His mouth was dry, a cold sweat forming a gentle dew on his skin. _Does she know about the Shrike victims? No -- that's crazy -- surely it's just a coincidence...._

"What, not scary enough for you," she asked.

Will shook his head. "I mean, it's kinda cheesy, don't you think," he reflected.

"Well _duh,_ but isn't that the point?" Abigail started walking again. "I suppose I could have made the ending a bit more scary. Next time I'll _really_ scare you!"

"I suppose. It was good though -- better than I could do," he said.

"Let's see about that," she challenged him. "It's your turn!"

"Fine, fine, I think I have an idea for a story...

"So, uh, there once was this man -- he worked at a... at a store for high-end instruments. String instruments, violins and cellos, you know.... It was a successful-enough business, he had a boyfriend, he should have been happy.

"But this man, he was... weird. Different. But not in a way people could really perceive -- his viciousness was like... like a snake hidden in the leaves. Not impossible to see, but nobody was looking for it. He grew bored of his conventional life, slowly. He sought something... greater. Something original, something _new._ A kind of sound unique to him.

"He didn't care _how_ he obtained it -- he still made and sold gut, a string made more beautiful to him through its cruelty. Their sounds were more full, timeless in a way. Strings made of catgut make sound still hundreds of years later -- his sound, it could reach further. It would echo throughout this whole existence. No... something more still. A new craft, one unique to _him._

"The craftsman sought out his target: a member of a local orchestra, a trombonist. The brass section had always needed improvement, and he would provide it. He abducted the man from his home, killed him quickly, and smuggled him into the performance hall. There, on the great stage in front of a crowd of ghosts, he made his _first._ He cut open the man's neck, peeling back the skin and revealing the vocal chords -- he treated them, as one treats gut. The craftsman took the neck of a cello, sliding it deep down into the corpse until it _stuck_. He then stretched the chords, reaching them up to the peg box.

"The man pulled out his bow, freshly-rehaired and textured with dark rosin. He closed his eyes and summoned forth music, a haunting air, radiating through the instrument and through him, filling the hall to its brim. This was the first of his craft, a birthing.... This is his design."

Silence hung in the air as Will finished.

"Damn, dude." She let out a laugh. It seemed only slightly tinged with discomfort.

"Sorry, I'm not really used to this is all."

"It's fine. Just trying to one-up me on the creep factor, eh?"

Will chuckled, hiding his embarrassment, realizing he may have gone too far. He had gotten _too_ into it.

"Next time, you need a good scare at the end; the point is to make everyone jump!"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, somewhat embarrassed. "By the way, you didn't get us lost, did you? We've been walking a while."

"I chose a long trail," she said matter-of-factly with a shrug. "I may have missed the turn that gets us down the faster path though." There was a smile in her voice.

Will playfully jabbed back. "Distracted or something?"

"Maybe," she admitted reluctantly. "Not like I'll get to go on many long walks soon anyways. My dad and I hunt more than we hike, and I doubt I'll be able to rope my parents into camping again anytime soon. Too cold soon."

"It's a bit cold _now_."

Abigail bumped her shoulder against Will. "Coward. We're about half-way there I think anyways. Easy-peasy. Unless... you're _scared_ ~?"

Will just laughed in response. He was used to getting "teased" by acquaintances, but it always came off as mean-spirited. With Abigail, though, he could tell she did it for conversation than anything. There was a respect in the relationship he hadn't fully experienced before. Despite the warmth of friendship, though, the cold breeze shook fear and anxiety through his body.

The two matched pace for the most part, though one would occasionally slow down, leaving the other in the lead. Will went into a sort of auto-pilot, focusing on the path and trying to get through as quickly as possible. The path came to follow a small lake eventually, black water shimmering in the moonlight, and Will turned his flashlight out towards it, stopping for a moment. Distant woods were blanketed in fog, blending the opposite shoreline with the water: it was impossible to tell quite where the reflection ended and reality began. He turned to get Abigail's reaction to the view.

Her flashlight was off, and Will couldn't see her.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ His heart began to race. _Shit!_ He scanned his light across the forest, scanning for any human shape among the twisted bark. "Abigail?" He voice was caught and gnarled in the branches, and there was no response, not even from nature. He hollered louder and tried to disguise the panic imprinted on his voice. "Abigail!" _Could her dad have taken her? He could have followed, he's a hunter, what if he knows? What if he knows I suspect him?_ His mind turned to the knife pressing up against his thigh. _Does he know I'm onto him? Does he know he's gonna get caught, is he taking his chance?_ He flicked off his light and moved behind another tree further back along the trail, and unfolded the borrowed blade with shaking hands. He waited for any noises around him listening for Abigail or Mr. Hobbs, but every little leaf and branch in the autumn breeze whispered a different thing to him -- _he's here/she's gone/you're safe/she's here/she's gone_ , they said. He clutched the knife close to his chest. His mind jumped back to the looks Mr. Hobbs had given him throughout the day. _He knows. He's here._ He was sure.

Will began to perceive himself as prey. He heard what might have been footsteps behind him, weaving through the trees and up to his from behind. His eyes and fists were clenched, not ready to fight but forcing himself to. He knew he couldn't run, he knew no one could get there soon enough to save him. Hot tears blazed down his cheeks in shame. _I couldn't help her.  
_

The sounds came closer. Will's knuckles trembled in anticipation, white from gripping with all their strength. Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed him -- Will thrust the knife forward, and the blade slid through clothing and flesh. There was a sickening squelch, and he felt the knife scrape between bone. There were faint, wet coughs; blood spilled onto his hand. It was so thick... so warm _._ Will waited for something to be driven into him into return, but it didn't come. Another cough, a struggle for words. Too feminine. "No," Will whispered. "No no _no no no_." His eyes were beginning to adjust to the moonlight, enough to make out the shimmers in his victim's eyes. Something inside him collapsed, his stomach dropped, and a cold rush flowed through him as if a glacier had burst inside him. The hand fell from him and the body slumped to the floor, sliding off the knife Will still gripped in his hands. The thud was soft, that of a child's. _No_ , Will began to stammer again -- but his voice wouldn't work. He felt a scream welling up deep inside him, a sudden and sharp terror. He fell back against the tree in shock and dropped the knife with a _thud._

He clicked on his flashlight, shone it at his feet, illuminating the blood drops littering the undergrowth. He panned the light up, seeing Abigail's twisted form laying broken on the leaves, tears and blood streaking across her features. She coughed again, weakly, expelling blood from her mouth down onto her chest, where a dark crimson flower was blooming. The flashlight plummeted to the ground, turning off as it landed. Will rushed down, blindly groping to get a sense of the injury, checking for a pulse -- he found one in her neck, gentle and fading. "I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry_ ," he whimpered. She was unconscious but still breathing wet, garbled breaths. He dragged her against a log, hoping to slow the bleeding. Will only vaguely knew he had to apply pressure, and he blindly fumbled his hands around her chest, pressing down against the wound he had left in her. "Please, please please," he begged God.

 _I have to call the cops_ , he thought. _An ambulance -- maybe they can get here in time_. He pulled his phone out from his pocket, dialing 9-1-1, but he stopped before hitting the call button. A voice from inside him spoke, _they'll know it was you who killed her. You'll be deemed a murderer, and no one will want you_. He navigated back to his contacts, hovering the second entry on the list: Hannibal Lecter. Blood smeared from his hand onto the screen, tinting it red. _No, I can't, I went too far,_ he thought. Will's finger fluttered over the call button, for what may have been seconds or minutes -- even hours. _I can't, I can't, I can't do this alone,_ his internal monologue wailed. He let out a blood-curdling cry, collapsing against Abigail. He could hear her heart faintly beating, pushing the blood from her body. He wiped his tears away with his less-bloody sleeve, fumbled for the phone again, and dialed.

The tone stopped after one ring. "Hello, Will. Is everything alright?" The voice washed over him, soothing even now.

"I... I made a mistake. I..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. The boy sobbed into the receiver, the man on the other side waiting patiently for an opportunity to speak.

"Take a deep breath Will. Tell me what happened."

"I-I-I... I can't tell you ov-over the phone," he said through shattered gasps for air.

"I understand. Tell me your location, Will."

Following instructions, he relayed the GPS coordinates over the phone. "We- There's a uh, a camping site. Nearby. We're on the trail at the far West side of the property." He started tearing up again, but suffocated his cries. "Abigail, she... I... I don't know what happened." He couldn't finish.

Hannibal's voice was as calm as ever. "Wait where you are. I'll be there soon."

"Th-thank-thank you." He manoeuvred his thumb to the red button and pressed. He was left alone with Abigail again, shivering in the dark. The blood looked black in the moonlight. With Doctor Lecter's voice gone, the night was dead silent; the blood surging through his veins and his heart beating like a drum filled the forest and crumbled the world around him.

Will knelt before the corpse, beginning to process the situation. The initial terror was one thing, but after a point he expected to wake up -- all a nightmare, some paranoid dream. But as time passed and the chemicals surging through his brain subsided, the world around him was all-too present, replacing the sense of surrealism that had been there to shield him from reality. It set in that Abigail had just been trying to scare him, a friend wanting some juvenile entertainment. _And I fucking stabbed her,_ he thought. _She might_ die _because of me._

He felt numb, as if all the blood in his body had evaporated, leaving him nothing but a husk. He felt sick, like whatever wretched part of himself that did this was trying to claw and climb its way from his gut. Will felt grief shred through himself, dread chain to the ground, and rage rip through him. The anger was directed at himself; he did the opposite of what he was trying to do -- what he suspected Hobbs would do. The fear of Hobbs being innocent dawned on Will. And Mrs. Hobbs, who was definitely innocent. What would she say? What would they think? Every possibility ran through in Will's head, all of them horrible.

The knife still lay on the ground, slick and black with blood, iridescent under the moon. It called to him, telling the boy it was meant to be _him_ \-- and it was right. Will reached out, wrapped his thin fingers about the weapon, and lifted it again. _You wanted this, didn't you,_ he accused himself. _Are you going to stab her again?_

"No. No, no," he said aloud, hoping it would shake the intrusive thoughts. He cradled the knife in his hands, tremendous and heavy, as he rocked too and fro. "No, I didn't want this" Will insisted, trying so hard to convince himself. He felt sick to his stomach. The knife found its way up to his chest, hovering over the spot Abigail was impaled. _Prove it,_ his mind challenged itself. _If you were a good person, you'd kill yourself right here. Right. Now._ Will struggled to deny what the intrusive thoughts were saying as they amplified. The tip of the knife jabbed at his chest, the pain bringing reality back to him just a touch. He threw the knife to his side. _Coward._

Will's breakdown felt as if a single moment was stretched into eternity, but eventually, footsteps cracked down the trail towards him. A gentle light illuminated the trail, and Will initially sheltered himself behind a tree, still unsure of who it was.

"It's me, Will." The thick foreign accent was immediately recognizable.

The boy aimed his flashlight at Doctor Lecter, who arrived clad in a layer of plastic covering his black suit. He carried a medical bag over his shoulder, stuffed full of what must have been exactly everything that was needed. Will stuttered out an explanation of what happened as Hannibal bent over Abigail's body. "Please tell me she's okay," he begged.

After a moment of taking vitals, Hannibal turned to face Will. Even through the darkness, the blackness of his eyes bore into him. "She's holding onto life by the thinnest strands, like a doe struck beside the road." He stroked the hair from her face. "You butchered her."

No words escaped Will's lips as he collapsed back onto the ground.

"If the police find you out, you'll be sent away." After picking the knife Will discarded beside her, Hannibal got up and walked over to the boy, placing a gentle hand on his back and stroking gently -- a calming effect seemed to radiate out from them. "She would tell them; there would be no way you could hide. You have to put her out of her misery, Will. A mercy kill." His words seeped into Will like poison. "Let me handle the rest."

He felt the handle of the knife gently forced into his hand once more. He knew Doctor Lecter was right. He slowly stood, legs quivering like a fawn. His counsellor followed, shining his flashlight onto Abigail's body. Will collapsed in front of her, watching her chest rise and fall weakly. Her eyes were closed, but below her eyelids he could see the bumps of her pupils flitting around. He could tell she was in pain. Will looked to Hannibal, who nodded in approval. He reached out over her, pointing the knife at her chest. "I don't want to do this," he cried.

Hannibal grabbed Will's hands and moved the blade over the heart. His first stab had missed the lungs and heart, sparing Abigail of any serious damage. This way she was sure to die. "She's unconscious: she won't feel a thing," he assured him. His hand reached out and wiped tears and blood from the boy's cheek. "It's you or her."

"It should be me," he said. "It should be me who dies."

Lecter's hand moved down Will's face, past his neck and shoulder, and down to his hand. "Let me help you Will." His voice was a siren's song, his hand soothing and vile.

Will couldn't bare to look. He closed his eyes tightly and trust downwards with Hannibal, feeling the flesh tear beneath the blade again. Abigail's body twitched, then went completely lip. In all the visions he had of her death, she had never looked so in-pain. If he had listened to his counsellor's heartbeat, he would have noticed it remained completely calm.

Doctor Lecter braced himself against the boy's weight as he collapsed into his arms. Blood and tears mingled on the forest floor as Will sobbed against Hannibal's chest, the poor boy's only haven. Hannibal reached out and embraced the boy's face with his palms, bringing it up so that their eyes met. The storm raging behind Will's eyes calmed slightly. "You did well, my boy," he whispered.

Will didn't respond; he just kept crying -- though the sobs were softening, his heartbeat slowing.

"We must hurry." He reached for the bag he brought. "I took the liberty of bringing you a new set of clothes. I had to guess as to your sizes, but it will have to do." He pulled out a flannel, tank-top, and shorts, as well as a package of disinfectant wipes. He started wiping away the blood from the boy's face and hands. "The Hobbs will notice a change in clothes. Be sure to avoid them as to avoid suspicion."

"Why are you doing this," Will asked.

Hannibal paused. "You asked for my help," he said frankly. "Besides, it is my duty to make sure you succeed in school. No doubt being convicted of manslaughter would hinder your academic progress."

"I don't think the Hippocratic oath includes covering up murders."

Doctor Lecter smiled. "I'm no ordinary therapist."

Will stared at the way his counsellor neatly spread out sheets of plastic and started wrapping Abigail's corpse. "I can see that."

Hannibal nodded at the clothes he placed on the forest floor for his patient. "It would be best if you changed now. Do the Hobbs know which trail you took?"

"No, don't think so."

"Good. Then go to the neighbouring trail, and wait for my call. Do not answer. Then, call the police, and tell them your friend has gone missing around there." He finished wrapping the corpse and began to scoop the leaves and dirt with blood on them into a trash bag. "Make sure they bring you back to campus right away -- best to avoid the parents." He handed Will a sheet of plastic and some wipes. "Place your old clothes in this for me. Take off everything and wipe yourself down before you dress again. Do you understand me?"

By now, Will was getting a handle over his emotions, though he kicked himself for not being able to do anything on his own. "Y-yeah," he muttered. He grabbed the clothes and went behind the tree, opposite of Doctor Lecter. The boy stripped down to his underwear and obeyed his instructions, goosebumps forming as the disinfectant evaporated off his skin. Soon, he was dressed in a new pair of clothes. (Oddly, the doctor had correctly guessed his sizes almost exactly.) Will stepped out from behind the tree and handed the bundle of bloody rags to Hannibal.

"Thank you, Will." He stuffed them into a bag separate from the rest of the evidence. "Now I'm afraid it's best you get moving."

Will followed his instructions, slinking through the campgrounds to another random trail. The paranoia of being found by someone was heart-palpitating, but he made it without incident. His relief drowned out any fear of how casually doctor Lecter treated the situation.

When the police arrived, Will gave his statement: the two were separated somewhere on the trail, and despite looking, he couldn't find her. One officer took notes while more went to interview the parents. Despite still being distant from the campsite, Will could hear Mrs. Hobbs's cries pierce through the night and into his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She was just gonna jump out and say "scared now?" Whoops.
> 
> Thank you all for coming along this long. I promise, things will pretty much all be dramatic now. Took a bit but we're here! Will and Hannibal are gonna get close~~~~~ Them predator hands will be ALL OVER this boy so buckle the fuck up babes.


	14. Session Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will struggles with school as his grasp over his emotions weakens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3k hits! I am so thrilled -- seems like y'all are enjoying the story! Sorry this chapter took a little while, mood's been iffy.

Will hadn't slept even a single hour by the time his alarm went off. It was the first school day he'd have to face without the possibility of seeing Abigail throughout. He stared at the ceiling, trying to conjure forth the motivation to get out of bed. He threw on his school uniform: a dress shirt and pants (sightly-wrinkled after spending the night balled up on the floor), followed by the deep green vest, and then lazily tucked beneath his belt. His bag of clothes from the weekend were in the corner, untouched since Mrs. Hobbs returned them. He still hadn't looked her in the eyes.

During classes, the weekend's events lingered in his mind like a thick fog. As teachers would read from the textbook, students following along, he would stare past the pages and into an imagined horizon. He only remained conscious enough to listen for the rustle of pages being turned so he could do the same and appear to be following along.

At other times, though, he would force himself to pay attention to the degree that it would actually distract from his sadness. When this happened, Will would eventually catch himself. He forced his mind back onto the subject, feeling shame from having been distracted from something so serious. As repentance, he would force himself to relive those moments, forcing open the mental wound so that it could fester and maybe take him with it.

It was history class, during a reading of some portion of the textbook, that Will once again found himself in this trap. He had dissociated through the teacher saying they'd be taking turns reading paragraphs, and suddenly he was being called on for the next portion. "Will?"

The boy's head suddenly shot up. "S-sorry?"

"It's your turn to read," the teacher impatiently explained.

Will looked at the page in front of him, scrubbing through his hazy last few minutes for any context as to where he was -- he had no idea. "Um... what paragraph," he asked sheepishly.

The teacher stifled a sigh. "Paragraph four."

"Sorry... w-what page?"

When he reached the point he was supposed to, after holding the class back a few minutes trying to get there, he read out the passage in a wavering voice, uncertain and barely cleared of tears. He made note to continue where they were at from that point on, but he never found himself able to actually parse the words being said.

After the bell rang and class was dismissed, Mason found him in the hall. "Distracted, buddy?" His voice was full of a bitter fake cheeriness. "I heard that your little friend went missing, I just wanted to say how _sorry_ I am," he said, wrapping his arm around Will's shoulder. "I know it can't be _easy_ hanging around someone like you for so long. I'm surprised she went as long as she did without running away!" He slapped Will on the back and let out an obnoxious short laugh.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Will's body tensed, he recoiled away from the upperclassman, and let out yell far louder than he intended. His voice cracked as it came out, and his eyes began to blur with tears. He held his fists tight and started walking away, wiping at his face in an attempt to hide his tears from the nearby students.

The teacher peeked out from the doorway and hollered "Language!" in response, prompting Mason to start going off about how he was just trying to have a simple conversation, while Will walked away in shame to his next class.

That night was a repeat of the last: only a few hours of rest blessed it, and it was otherwise full of looming anxieties and sleepless depression. He droned through his day, eventually reaching history class again. He noticed that Mason Verger was sitting just a few spots closer to him. The day's lessons were bland, no participation needed, and Will drifted off.

Will thought about his mother. He had lost her at a young age, and so he only really had fond, soft memories of her. Will never considered himself religious, but when he remembered his mother, he viewed her as in heaven, looking down on him. Most of the time, she sad with her heart aching, unable to help. But what would she have thought when she saw Will Saturday night? Would she have been understanding, encouraging? Or would she have seen Will as a killer? Tears began to drip onto Will's desk. He couldn't conclude whether his mother would have forgiven him, and the thought was too much to bear.

Mason looked over at Will smugly. He was content watching the boy cry on his own, deciding to intervene at the end of class. When the bell rang, Will jolted up -- Mason was sure to meet his eyes and spread his shit-eating-est grin. The underclassman fled the room as quickly as he could.

Tuesday night was even worse. Will's dreams ate into him like termites, gnawing away at the framework of his being. He couldn't pay attention during classes, choosing to shrink away into the rooms' corners and pray he wouldn't be called on. It was history class, during a video the teacher was playing, when he burst. Will struggled to regain composure, but it felt like trying to repair a house that was already half-crumbled... like there was no way to salvage himself. He let himself collapse into himself, burying his face into his sleeves, trying his best to muffled his sniffles and cries, desperately wiping his face.

The video ended and the lights flicked on. As students pulled out their textbooks, they were allowed a few minutes to talk. A hand shot up beside him.

"Teacher! It looks like Will isn't feeling so good, I think he's crying." Mason's voice stung Will's ears. _Jesus, what a dick,_ he thought. He held back his anger, not wanting to make a scene. The classroom was loud, not many people would notice, at least.

"Will, you okay? Do you need to step out for a second?" He hated being talked to like a child. He nodded and started to get up.

"I'll go ahead and take him, make sure he's okay." He clapped a hand on Will's shoulder. _How can she not fucking see what's happening here?_

"Thank you. You two be back in five minutes, okay?"

Will shook the upperclassman off, interjecting. "I-I don't need his help," he said softly.

Before the teacher could respond, Mason felt the need to continue. "Now, buddy, it's okay." He tugged at Will's arm again. "Come on now."

"Get the fuck off of me!" Will had hoped the interaction would go unnoticed, but everyone heard his yelp. His face blushed a deep red.

"Hey, watch the language--"

Mason ignored them both. "Come on now _buddy_ , it's nothing to be ashamed of." He was brimming in poisonous false friendship.

Will was fed up. "Shut... up!" He shoved Mason back, catching him off-balance and sending him plummeting down, head hitting the tile floor with a dull _thump._ Mason smiled at Will, just long enough to tell him with his eyes, _Got you now, buddy._ He then started winging, proclaiming he had no reason to be attacked -- not crying, though: that would have been too embarrassing for him.

"You two, Mr. Crawford's office. _Now._ " The teacher pointed out the door stiffly. As they left, Will kept his head down and did his best to avoid the prying eyes around him, while Mason put on a smug grin.

The boys found the headmaster's room unoccupied, forcing them to sit and wait until he was in. Mason spent the time torturing Will with inane small-talk, all with a mocking positivity. Will did his best to ignore it. Eventually, though, Mr. Crawford returned, opening the door for the students.

He sat down at his desk and exhaled deeply. "All right, tell me what happened." He sounded like he was already tired of the discussion, and his voice was tinged with slight annoyance.

Mason started. "You see, Mr. Crawford, good Will was just having a bad day, so I figured I would take it upon myself to help him."

" _Bullshit_ ," spat Will. The headmaster gave him a disproving, almost bewildered look.

The upperclassman's whining voice wound up again to continue talking. "...Anyways -- I offered to take him aside for a quick breather, and the teacher said I _could_ , but he just _wouldn't come._ And see, I 'm worried about him, so I insist -- only wanting to help of course." He side-eyed Will, who was glaring back at him. "Well, then he decides to just up and push me! I fell back onto my head, right here," he said, gesturing at a small bump at the back of his skull. "I think I might need to go see the nurse for it. I just have _no idea_ what overcame him!"

Will looked at Mr. Crawford desperately. "He was being a jerk! He _knows_ I've been upset and he's been picking on me!"

Mason smiled and laughed defensively. "I was just a concerned friend, is all! Simply saint-like!"

"Shut up," Will groaned.

"Both of you, be quiet." Jack Crawford sighed and held his head for a moment. "Mason, I can tell when you're lying to me; leave Will alone." He turned to face the smaller boy. "Will, apologize for hurting Mason." Mason chuckled and put his hands in the air, not admitting to bullying but not denying it at this point.

"...No," Will said. Water leaked from the corners of his eyes, and he turned and looked away from the other two.

Mr. Crawford sighed. "Mason, you apologize first."

Mason turned to face Will like he was talking to a toddler. "I'm very sorry, William."

The headmaster waved at Will. "Your turn now."

Will began to say it but his voice caught in his throat, so he closed his mouth again and shook his head. _I have nothing to apologize for,_ he wanted to scream.

He groaned and murmured, "Apologize, so we can get on with our day, please."

"Sorry," Will muttered. Tears shown in his voice, making Mason grin.

"Apology accepted."

Mr. Crawford cleared his throat. "Alright Mason, you go on back to class. Will, you stay here." The declaration made the boy's stomach drop. He always hated getting in trouble.

After Mason was gone and the door was closed, Mr. Crawford faced Will. "I thought we agreed on no more outbursts," he said.

The boy sniffed and caught his breath. "H-he's been picking on me... all week."

"I figured that might be the case." He passed the boy a tissue box. "Look, I know that Abigail going missing must have been hard. I get it. But you have to get it together Will. She's just missing -- she could show up any day now. Just trust in the FBI, okay?"

Will started sobbing into the tissues. The headmaster tried to soothe him, but Will knew Abigail wasn't coming back.

"Are you seeing Doctor Lecter soon? How has he been, as a therapist," Jack inquired. He didn't know how to deal with the kid, but hopefully his colleague did.

"H-he's good," he chattered between unstable breaths. "I-I'm gonna se-see him ag-g-gain tomorrow...." _Who knows where I'd be without him._

"You be sure to do that. Listen, I'm gonna let it slide this time, but no more fights, okay Will?"

Will sniffed and nodded his head, now throbbing from crying too much.

* * *

"Hello again, Will." Doctor Lecter was as welcoming as ever, beckoning the boy in to the safety of his office. "Jack told me you had an incident with Mason Verger yesterday," he led, as he took his seat across from his patient.

Will shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "He was trying to get a reaction out of me in class. He kept bringing Abigail up earlier and he just... knew I couldn't take it. He made me cry in front of class, so... so I pushed him, and I don't think he expected it, so he fell over.... But after he hit the ground, he just smiled at me. He got me to act out, and I could see how smug he was."

"Provoking you to attack, then robbing you of any satisfaction. Boys like Mason can find victory even in defeat." Hannibal crossed his legs. "He tries to get you in trouble because he finds your reactions entertaining. If you cease to react he'll lose his interest in you. No fun when your food doesn't fight back."

"I know, I just... I can't hold my feelings back right now, not since...." Will shifted in his seat. "I-I wish I could just make him stop, make him leave me alone."

"Before he robbed you of your satisfaction, what did you feel when Mason hit the ground?"

The boy paused to think. Hannibal's eyes were glued to him, trying to see through his skin. "I don't think he expected me to push him. He wasn't braced against it, so he fell over pretty easily.... I saw him trip, and I heard his head smack against the floor..." Doctor Lecter tilted his head. "...a-and, it was like something inside me... burst. I knew exactly what it must have felt like, and he... he _deserved_ it. He deserves _worse_. I felt like... like I was doing the right thing." He stopped and looked up at his counsellor. "Is that normal?"

Hannibal smiled lightly -- the boy's budding sadism was interesting, promising, but he was still so empathetic, still concerned with whether or not he was moral. "Everyone has fantasies of revenge, Will. Fear of consequence is what stops them from acting it out."

"Mr. Crawford said I won't get in trouble for it this time, at least." He let out a sigh. "That's not gonna last, though. Only so many sympathy points when your friend isn't declared dead yet, I guess." Will was going to continue, but after he thought through what he had just said, he fell silent, unable to address the elephant in the room.

"Would you like to talk about what happened this weekend? Perhaps recounting the events would help you to better process your emotions."

"No." The response was curt and quiet.

Hannibal nodded in response, not wanting to push Will too far -- at least, not yet.


	15. Garret Jacob Hobbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the weekend, the Shrike strikes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victim names used in this chapter are the names given in the show for the Shrike victims, guessing at first names from the syllable. Sorry for any unfortunate coincidences with real people!  
> Btw, I'm writing a one-off Hannigraham fic with a similar-ish premise, but it's just straight into the raunchy stuff and Will is a bit more of a whore in it. So, if that's ur cuppa tea, then like sub to me or just keep an eye out, or I'll just say in a chapter notes for this fic when it's out. luv u all, mwah mwah <3  
> EDIT: it's out. https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726068 boom baby

Hobbs had always worked hard for his wife. She was sweet and smart, every bit a perfect match for him. But eventually, that feeling faded. Garret Jacob Hobbs had something inside him: something dark and cruel, disguised in love. He knew his wife would never understand what it was like to take a life. It had started with deer, from a young age, when he was taught to hunt and honor every part of his prey. Otherwise, it was just murder. Mrs. Hobbs let him hunt, of course, but she never understood how spiritual the preparation of a carcass was, never saw the consumption of flesh for what it was: a melding, a taking-in. By eating those prey he treated with such love, he became something _more_ than himself. _They_ became a part of _him._ The beauty, to Hobbs, was indescribable. He just wanted to make someone understand.

Everything changed when Abigail was born. Hobbs had grown bored of family life, taking refuge in his job and his hunting, but suddenly there was a reason to stay. He had a child, someone he could raise as his own. He could make her realize the beauty in taking life. He adored raising her. With her in picture, he could even pretend he still loved his wife -- but since the moment she was born, Garret Jacob Hobbs loved Abigail more than anything in the world. As soon as she was old enough, Hobbs got her a toy gun. They would play together for hours, shooting darts back and forth and laughing. Soon he stepped it up to target practice using BB guns, followed by small game hunting. She was apprehensive at first, being a sweet girl, but she learned the philosophy quickly. Before Hobbs knew it, she was hunting right along side him, and he was happy.

Until he wasn't. The Hobbs moved around a lot with work, so they found whatever schooling they could. They ended up enrolling Abigail in a boarding school, largely at the behest of Mrs. Hobbs. She had been growing away as she aged already, but now she was on her way out -- he would only see her during weekends. He held onto her while he still could, dreading her being taken out of his grasp.

Eventhough school wouldn't start for another few months, Garret Jacob Hobbs felt himself slipping away. He had to accept that he couldn't have Abigail, not forever -- except he _could_ , he realized. There was a way he could take her in permanently, a way to do it without harming her -- after all, he would honor every part of her.

But Hobbs couldn't start with his daughter. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to do it, and he had still had some precious time with Abigail. He lingered around school campuses, watching the kids playing. His daughter was irreplaceable, but there were certainly a lot of girls who looked similar. He took his time, he was patient, and eventually, the opportunity would present itself.

He never hurt the kids. He killed them quickly and, to his thinking, mercifully. They were barely ever aware of their fates, in the end. He would take them his cabin, which his family knew about, but the title was not in his name. He mounted the prey in his antler room, where he would drain them of their blood and relieve them of their organs. The girls were butchered with care, precisely cut and cured for consumption. Their hair would be used for pillow stuffing, their bones used for putty -- none of them went to waste. They would become a part of him and his home. Those parts he hadn't yet found use for were preserved and kept for later.

The first time Garret Jacob Hobbs tasted human flesh was a few days after his first kill. He had excused the weekend as a hunting trip, during which he carried out the crime. He was racked with paranoia for the first while, processing the girl's body uncertainly as the last bits of conscience deep in his heart made their death throws. He first prepared some jerky, being familiar with the process. As he took the first bite, all the fog that had invaded his mind fell away, replacing it with a new, physical bond to this girl. It tasted much like pork, but with the kind of stringiness he had expected from reading about it. However, this girl's meat was particularly tender, and the jerky was a perfect consistency. She was a part of him forever, and in a way, it made him closer to Abigail.

He later learned the girl's name: Sara Olsen. She had been more timid than his Abigail, but her hair fell in the same way as her and her body was very similar. Her flesh tasted sweet and delicious, and it was not long before Hobbs brought some pieces of her back home to share with his family. The rest, he had just for himself. Sara was an excellent first, and she didn't put up much of a fight. Hobbs left no evidence, and soon the fears of being caught would leave him, replaced by a new, deadly confidence.

A month later, there was another girl: Laura Sorenson. She put up more of a struggle, but she was worth it. Hobbs decided to share her almost entirely with his family, providing a good portion of the month's meat from an unquestioned source. They loved every bite, and every bite they took made Hobbs feel even closer to his family. The next month came, along with another girl: Dorothy Latimer. Then, he was counting the days until he took Parker Cohen, then Rachel Winn, Ashley Anderson, Diane Woodward, Elise Nichols -- was different. She was incredibly easy to take, and had died with a soft kind of dignity to her, something Hobbs found admirable and beautiful. But when he mounted her on his antlers and cut her open, he was faced with something he hadn't considered: she couldn't be eaten.

Elise Nichols's liver was pink and yellow in places, obviously cancerous. Hobbs panicked for a moment -- he couldn't just _disrespect_ her, but he couldn't eat her.... He put the liver back in and stitched her up, put antler velvet in the wounds. He was trying to fix her. He paced in front of her corpse, contemplating what to do. The answer he came do was difficult, but he couldn't justify Elise's death any other way: he had to return her body.

After returning the child's corpse to her bed where it belonged, paranoia began to set in to Hobbs even deeper. He made a big risk and he knew it, but he had to do what was right. He felt bad for killing her. Hobbs hoped that returning the body could let her be respected the way he couldn't. He was just scared that he would get stopped before he could become one with Abigail....

But then she went missing.

Hobbs knew, deep in his heart, that she must be dead. The chances were so slim that she was alive, and hope had been ripped from him along with her. He and his wife drank, finally finding a use for the alcohol stashed in their cabinets. The dizzy numbness was far better than the ugly sober truth. Mr. Hobbs had expected the alcohol to stay there, largely untouched, until Abigail grew up and snuck it away, skimming off the top to get tipsy. Everything he had done, he had done for Abigail, and without her to share them with, the house was sombre as a crypt. The crying ghosts of girls ground into the house wailed at Hobbs, highlighting the absence of Abigail. He prayed they could at least find her body.

He also thought about Will Graham. He had been the last to see her, and he had been on about something regarding him with his daughter, and he didn't strike him quite right. Garret Jacob Hobbs hadn't gotten the chance to see him yet, but he was very interested in meeting the boy. He had a feeling that he was involved in this all, or that he was at least holding back, but that would have to wait for later.

* * *

Another day came at the Hobbs household. The sun beamed in through the windows, illuminating the joyless rooms. Garret Jacob Hobbs lay next to his wife, who was once again greeting the day with quiet tears, the sobriety of the morning bringing nothing but hollow despair. He held her in her arms as she sobbed about her daughter, every day meaning a higher chance she's dead. Mr. Hobbs didn't cry as much as her, but he felt the same pain -- moreso, even. He always knew Louise would get the short end of the stick, losing her daughter and not able to understand the way in which she'd have her daughter with her forever. She was condemned to sadness from the beginning, and it was the least Hobbs could do to drink away his pain with her.

Mind swimming in booze, Garret Jacob Hobbs headed into town. He told Louise he was going on a drive. He was parked outside of Abigail's school, gazing longingly at the corner he was used to his girl popping out from behind. He had planned to take another this weekend, perhaps even Abigail herself. He knew there wasn't as much time left after he returned Elise.

There were children around, though the number dwindled as the sun set. Hobbs sat there in the parking lot, sipping at his whisky, imagining Abigail in their stead. As the sun was resting on the horizon, a couple of kids -- presumably brother and sister -- walked past and began arguing. The boy, whose hair stuck up chaotically on-end, ripped open the back door of nice-looking car and yelled something Hobbs couldn't quite make out at the girl. She yelled something back, and in response, the boy leaned in and shut the door, and the car soon took off without her.

The girl was wind-chafed, with lovely brown hair and fair skin. Her face displayed a kind of rebelliousness he saw in Abigail, and all dis-similar aspects were blurred away by the alcohol. She would be the next.

Margot Verger woke up in the driver's side seat, hands bound in soft rope and head swimming with some unknown drug. When she registered what was happening, she figured it was just her luck. She wasn't used to ever getting what she wanted, and was more accustomed to people taking advantage of her however they saw fit -- chiefly her brother.

Garret Jacob Hobbs was driving frantically, in a drunken panic. He had gotten a call from his wife, which he decided to ignore. _She'll be fine,_ he told himself. He was heading to his cabin, speeding down the highway, when the girl woke up. The panic backed away slightly as Hobbs stared, the booze telling him she looked _just like_ Abigail. His heart was filled with longing, for his daughter and for what they shared. He wanted someone to raise, someone he could keep.

The man started rambling, relaying the story of how he reached rock bottom, drunkenly weaving his sympathetic tale with tangents and tears. "You, I saw you after school there. The boy who pushed you: was he your brother?" he asked.

"Y-yes." Margot was quiet as could be. "M-my whole family is like that...."

"No, no, no," Hobbs said, drunkenly slurring while slowly shaking his head. "That's not how family treats each other. You know, I 'ad a feeling you needed some help." He smiled a wide unstable smile.

Margot nodded, going along with what her captor said. "I-I guess so," she responded.

"I had a daughter," he said, voice burdened. "I would take her camping, hunting... I wanted to give her everything in life. A family without that kindness, that -- that emotional bond, 's worthless." His eyes were turned from the road, piercing into the girl across from him.

Margot remained silent. Streetlamps shone into the car periodically, highlighting how gaunt Hobbs looked and illuminating his half-empty bottle of whisky which shone a brilliant orange from his hand. She could see something dangerous in his eyes -- but also, a genuine kind of sympathy, and a clear love for his lost daughter.

After a while longer, Hobbs pulled his car into the gravel parking space beside a small but sturdy cabin. "We'll be alone here. 's my little getaway, for when life's just... too much." He took Margot through the door in his arms, and locked the door. He fumbled with the chain locks and two-way locking bolt, but in his drunken state he hadn't the coordination or patience, and simply settled for the knob's lock.

She looked up at her surroundings: dark wood walls and floor, a plethora of tools and workspace, a large wooden chest, and a basic kitchen and dining room. He used antlers in all of his decorating, including some full head trophies, and they cast long shadows across the wall. There was a wood-heated stove that Hobbs was attending to, a bed and a cot, and a staircase heading up towards the steeply-pointed attic she had seen a shuttered window to from outside.

"You'ver hunt," he asked. He had finished starting the wood stove, and was now checking his phone nervously. More missed calls from Louise.

"No, not really," Margot replied.

Hobbs put his phone down on the counter and grabbed some jerky that had been recently cured. "I made this recently, it's jerky. Try some." He held out a swaying hand to offer her some, which she accepted timidly. "I've hunted for a lo-ong time," he declared. "I try t' put everything to use. Y'know?"

Margot nodded sharply. The meat was sweet -- a bit _too_ sweet for her taste, but she knew how to feign satisfaction. She didn't really know what this guy wanted, but he wasn't hurting her much, so far. She bit back tears, hoping it would stay that way until she was rescued. _If_ she was rescued.

"D'you love your family?" Hobbs was getting closer to the girl, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol.

She had so stop and think. She had always taken it more-or-less as a given that she loved her family, but for some reason, she actually stopped to reconsider it. She rolled the question over on her tongue, thinking of an answer. She began to open her mouth to speak, when there's suddenly a knock at the door.

"FBI," the voice declared. Margot screamed at the top of her lungs, kicking back at Hobbs and forcing him off his balance. Immediately, the knocking turned to kicking. The wooden door frame splintered in, and the door collapsed to the floor with a loud clatter.

Garret Jacob Hobbs scrambled towards Margot, reaching out to grab her and place her in front of him. Before he reached her, the agent was already inside, pointing her gun squarely at the man's chest. He lunged for the girl, managing to grab her by the shoulders and starting to pull her in front of him. The agent fired her handgun, catching Hobbs in the shoulder, followed by one to his knee. He lost his balance, sending him toppling to the floor, pinning Margot face-down in his pooling blood.

The girl's ears rang. She hit her head hard, and found her bearings again as she was being lifted from the ground, Hobbs cuffed any lying on the floor beside her. She touched her face to wipe away the blur from her vision -- it came away wet and warm. She was used to seeing blood before, but never like this. She stared at her palm, noting the way it crawled into the grooves on her skin and smoothly glided down her wrist and forearm.

"Margot Verger?" The FBI agent held her by the shoulders firmly, looking into the girl's eyes. They pleaded for her to be okay.

Margot nodded.

"My name is Beverly Katz, I'm with the FBI. Are you okay? Did he hurt you at all?" Her eyes scanned over the girl, looking for any signs that something happened.

"No, I'm fine," she replied, her voice hollow.

* * *

Margot Hobbs told the FBI agent what happened, and the cabin was being picked apart by crime-scene investigators by the time she finished. Hobbs was arrested and taken to the hospital, where he would remain under police surveillance until his trial. She overheard the different people there remarking on the human remains scattered throughout the place, and she shuddered deeply. _What was he going to do with me?_ When she asked the detective, she was given a protective non-answer.

Beverly offered to take the girl back home, but she refused, saying she'd rather go back to the boarding school. Her family didn't seem to mind, so she took her back, driving mostly in silence all the way back. The girl hadn't reacted yet, clearly unable to fully process all that had happened, so the detective got in touch with the headmaster. Katz felt more at peace after Mr. Crawford told her he would be talking to Margot, apparently planning to have her regularly visit the best counsellor the school had to offer: a man named Hannibal Lecter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to find more excuses to write serial killer stuff -- preferably write my own. Idk if that'll be this fic somehow (just cuz the more limited setting. Not doing Will Graham Child Detective.) or if I'll do another fic for that. Maybe not even Hannibal -- I do wanna do original stuff too. May take some time to do a one-off serial killer thing at some point, idk.... The one-offs wouldn't distract me too much from this, I don't think.


	16. Session Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds out about what Garret Jacob Hobbs did, and his emotions are further twisted and bottled because of regret for all that happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I pumped out my new one-off (check my profile if you haven't read it; it's similar to this but with no plot & Will is just a slut. P good shit, if i may say.) and then I just took a small break. Had some (digital -- quarantine y'all) socialization to do & stuff. Small mental breakdown too but that's just how it b.  
> Also thanks for 4k hits! That makey me smiley :#^)  
> I've been thinking about how my english prof back in my 1st year of uni told me I should do more creative writing, and I didn't ever follow that up until now. I wonder if she'd be proud, of me and this cute little fanfic. lol
> 
> Final trigger warning, if you for some reason came this far without reading the tags, because things get creepier this chapter. yeet

Will had heard right away about what happened with Garret Jacob Hobbs. Before he was angry at himself, angry at the world for his circumstances even, but now it was nothing but disgust. He let two girls die, when he could have reported Hobbs. Evidence or not, he _should have_ , and he knew it. He deprived himself of the energy to hate, instead opting to just let himself rot away. It was what he deserved.

The other girl -- apparently, Mason's sister -- was still alive, but she was still taken, still subjected to Hobbs, and saved just because his wife had reported him missing. It was all a fluke, but he was caught, soon to be locked up in a prison or a mental institute for the rest of his life. Will could have gotten him on the FBI's radar, made him back off. Maybe that way he could have helped Abigail. But she was still dead, and Will's self-loathing stopped from surfacing the question of Hannibal Lecter's guilt.

He barely registered his own existence nor that of those around him. His teachers' words were background noise to a world Will didn't belong in. A couple days passed and he let his homework sit untouched in his bag, forgetting even the most trivial things. When he handed in the blank sheets to the teacher, he couldn't look them in the eye. He just gazed into the middle-distance, unable to even feel ashamed. He had no excuse to be reacting this way -- at least, no believable excuse that wouldn't incriminate him -- so he didn't try to justify it.

Mason took notice of Will's empty homework, of course. He lumbered over towards the boy, eager to torment him again, but he would soon get bored. Will took the verbal lashings, barely processing them and certainly not proud enough to refute them. " _Depressed little freak,_ " he had muttered as he walked back to his desk.

* * *

Will arrived back to his dorm to find it blissfully empty. He slung his bag off the shoulder and flung it into the corner of the room along with the rest of his stuff. Jimmy and Brian weren't exactly either, having their stuff strewn about randomly, though they weren't so gracious to keep it confined to a corner. He sighed deeply, as if expelling his entire soul with the breath.

He climbed up into his bed and lay there for a while, getting lost in the noises of the old building and its young residents. He stared up at the ceiling. He didn't think -- there were no words left to run through his brain. Just the suffocated firing of the occasional synapse, triggering stifled emotions that never made their way to the surface. The ceiling had so many bumps and holes and scratches. When he first moved in, he would stare at it for hours waiting to fall asleep. No matter how long he looked, it seemed there was always another mark. Another forgotten mundane story weaved into each hill and valley he could imagine. But now, it was always the same: a static, meaningless mess.

After an ambiguously-long restless rest, he hoisted himself back down off the bunk to shower. He figured that his roommates would come bounding back in at any moment, robbing him of the small peace he had. Besides, this time of day, Will could reliably find solitude in the bathroom.

He craned over his mess of belongings, hunting for the buried shower caddy. He found the handle and tugged it, but it didn't come loose. A towel was caught on one of the bottles, somehow managing to stay stuck, pulling Will out of his emotionless haze and into an instinctive frustration. He grunted as he tugged, each time coming out closer to a sob. Eventually he jerked it free with so much force that it came back and hit Will in the shin, scraping along his skin with a sharp edge. Without thinking he chucked it back against the floor, bottles clattering out and rolling across the dorm. The frustration left him and sadness flooded in to take its place for a moment, before Will choked it back.

Will picked up the bottles in embarrassment, as well as his loofah and a shard of plastic that had splintered off the caddy when he threw it. He hastily grabbed a towel and his after-school clothes, wiping away his tears before and heading out the room before his roommates could see the state he was in. As he walked down the calls he crossed paths with them, lowering his head and darting his eyes the opposite direction as soon as he saw them. They were preoccupied talking to each other and didn't notice.

The showers were empty, as Will had hoped. The room was large, with large drains in the centre and several booths with curtains and individual shower heads for privacy, walled-off from knee level to well above head height. Before stepping into the large room (and after double-checking to be sure no one else was around), Will set his belongings in the corner and began to strip.

He took off his vest, which ruffled his curly hair and chafed against his cheeks, blushing them slightly. He then untucked his shirt, letting it fall loose on his slender frame. He had overestimated his size when filling out the forms for the school uniforms, so it fluffed around his arms and extended down to his thighs when it wasn't tucked in. He kept it hanging around his shoulders, still scared of someone walking in and seeing him naked, as expected as that was in the showers. He always felt embarrassed about how much smaller he was than the other boys.

He slid his pants off in a hurry, still anxious despite being alone. He felt himself blush slightly when he slid his underwear down over his slender hips, bending over to reach them around his feet. He wrapped the towel around himself, tying it at his chest so that it would cover more _,_ and thankful that no one was around to see how small the towel he grabbed was, barely reaching low enough to cover up completely. He fled into the nearest shower stall with his caddy, reaching out with just his hand to hang the towel on the hook beside the door.

Will let the water wash over him. Several of his foster homes didn't have enough hot water to afford him the time in the shower he wanted, but the perk of a shared shower room was that the hot water never ran out. He could enjoy the way the water fell down his body, warm and unbroken, completely encasing him, sealing him off from the world. He began to dissociate again, but with the water taking him, the numb static feeling wasn't quite so cold. He was happy for the improvement.

Another advantage of the shower, particularly an empty one, was that he could cry. Will was never one to stay composed, but he _did_ make an effort. When the water rushed over him, though, he couldn't feel the tears, and so he was never forced to wipe them away. He could just melt into the torrent, could just crumble into nothing and be swept away.

Will didn't even bother trying to keep track of how long he stood dormant under the shower head. He knew it was a long time, but he also knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he dissolved down the drain, and that other people would be showering too before long to interrupt him. He squirted a handful of shampoo into his palm and began massaging it into his hair, letting the lather wash down his neck and over his shoulders, outlining the shallow curves of his body.

He bent down for the loofah and body wash, and started to scrub his body. He started with his arms, coating them in soap... and then kept scrubbing. Suddenly, he was noticing how _cathartic_ it felt to scrape away the dead skin, leaving raw pink pure flesh beneath. He kept scrubbing. The pink grew red as he scraped away the top layer of his fragile arms. They were itchy and sore, burning sharply with a throbbing pain. It was what he thought he deserved. Will realized that the pain felt _good._

The boy continued, rubbing his chest and stomach and legs raw, pouring more soap onto the loofah and letting it seep into his countless small wounds. He was lifted out from the numb dreariness that had engulfed him, and even the fires of Hell would seem more inviting. He felt as though he could be forgiven if he felt enough pain.

But he _didn't_ feel enough pain. The dark pit of self-hatred inside him told him he needed more. Will's eyes turned to his shower caddy, to the chipped rim of it that had been broken free from it when the boy had hurled it across the room. The edge looked so sharp... the shard of plastic that had busted off, even moreso. Will grabbed it almost without thinking, bringing it up against his skinny wrist, but paused.

 _Maybe this will be enough,_ he thought without thinking. _Just some cuts, just some blood. Enough to pay for what I spilt._ His mind was operating on emotional surges more than words, on impulse more than logic. He pressed down against his thin skin with the tip, where blood began to bead before getting swept away by the water. Tears leaked from his eyes freely, but he didn't notice. He pulled the makeshift blade across his wrist. His chest shuddered deeply, finally releasing some of the tension that had been building in it so long, and he slumped down to his knees.

It stung, more than the boy had expected. He had never faced much other than normal scratches and bruises and scrapes, and the sharp and specific pain of his wrist being slit open was completely foreign -- though not unwelcomed. Whether it was that, or the circumstances, or the realization of what he'd done or some combination thereof, he collapsed. He was there on the floor, water over and through him for what felt like eternity. His cries were silent and shaking.

* * *

Hannibal noticed how oddly quiet Will was that session. He was despondent, barely making it through his recap of the week. Doctor Lecter had kept his eye on the Shrike, of course, and he understood how the boy must be feeling. Somewhere deep inside him, he ached for Will, but more than anything he was _curious_. Human beings, particularly children, tend to be fragile; they can drastically change under extreme circumstances, for better or for worse. Human bones could mend stronger, but they could also be irrevocably damaged, rendered forever unusable by trauma. Will was so sweet, so naive, and so damaged -- Hannibal couldn't help but wonder what changes good Will might go through. "How have you been coping with the news regarding Garret Jacob Hobbs?" he inquired.

Will squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. "Mostly just dissociating," he said. "It's been too hard recently, I just... I find myself slipping backwards into this horrible numbness all the time. I haven't been able to keep up with school...." Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes, before being noticed and dabbed away. "Mr. Crawford's not gonna be happy."

"Don't worry about Jack Crawford, Will. We've worked together for many years -- I'm sure I can convince him to spare some leniency," he said with a reassuring smile.

"Thanks," Will responded, realizing how much he appreciated it. He had been trained by the other adults in his past to expect a more explosive response (or at least a colder one), but he had to keep reminding himself that Doctor Lecter was different. He had helped so much, and for so little in return. _I can trust him_ , he told himself. As he churned in his thoughts, he subconsciously grabbed his wrist, rubbing his thumb over the small cut he had made last night.

Doctor Lecter tilted his head. "You've been touching your wrist a lot, this session," he observed.

"I cut." The response was so simple and immediate that it almost caught Hannibal off-guard.

"Thank you for honesty, Will. May I ask when you did it?"

Will paused this time: his emotions were catching up to him. "I, uh... in the showers. Yesterday after class." His hand stayed over the cut, and his eyes stuck to the ground. He took a shaky breath in. "I just wanted to feel something. To be something more than a... than a _soulless husk_." His voice cracked: "I wanted to punish myself."

Hannibal left the words to sink in after they were spoken, leaving the room silent spare the boy's whimpering. "May I see where you cut yourself," he asked.

The boy was slightly shocked at the question, but he nodded his head gingerly. When his counsellor got out of his chair to come closer he stuck the arm forward, looking away in shame.

Hannibal Lecter knelt before Will Graham and gingerly took his slender arm in his hands. He tenderly rolled back the boy's sleeve, revealing his perfect and pale forearm, disgraced by a single thin scab that ran at a slight diagonal across his veins. He looked up at Will, seeing his eyes were still tightly shut and facing away. Hannibal took his thumb and placed it at the base of the scar -- Will jumped slightly at the contact, but it was instinctual and fleeting. He was calm as the doctor ran his digit along it, absorbing the shape and texture of the scar, preserving it in his mind. "Did you tend to it afterwards?"

"No," he admitted. "I didn't know I was supposed to, sorry...." Tears were starting to run down his cheeks, no longer containable.

"Wounds should be disinfected and bandaged to avoid infections -- even self-inflicted ones." Doctor Lecter clicked his tongue. "I don't condone self-harm, but I ask that if you _do_ , you do it safely."

Will gently tugged his arm back, holding it against his chest, defensive in stance. "Why should I? I don't deserve to be taken care of." His emotional barriers finally crumbled, and he collapsed limply into his seat, crying and sobbing erratically, desperately wiping at his eyes and muffling his sobs. If Hannibal Lecter had a heart, the sight made it shatter.

"Yes you do Will--" he began.

"No -- no I don't. I'm... I'm a _monster_. And you _know_ _it_." He spat the words up like vomit. "I _killed_ Abigail; I-I-I let another girl get kidnapped b-because I was too -- too _stupid_ to do _anything_! I'm _pathetic._ " He let out a guttural cry, retching up from the darkest parts of himself. " _I deserve to die._ " Will crumbled like a glacier, reduced to a puddle of tears and incoherent utterances.

Hannibal Lecter supported himself on his knees, putting him level with the boy balled up in front of him. He reached behind the boy and slowly pulled him tight, binding him to his chest, engulfing him in his warmth. The boy's shuddering paused for a moment, surprised, before it resumed again: now slightly softer and less turbulent. Hannibal tightened his grip, compressing him and slowly but firmly rubbing his hand across the boy's back.

"That... feels really nice," the boy eked out, now able to withhold his crying somewhat.

"It's called _deep pressure therapy_. It's something that was used to calm cattle before slaughter, but it was found to also be therapeutic for those with hypersensitivity issues, particularly those on the spectrum." He breathed heavier as he held him. Will could feel he was strong, but he used just enough pressure, squeezing hard but not hurting him. "I suspected it would help in this case." Hannibal smiled warmly as he looked down at the boy bound between his arms. "And it appears I was correct."

The boy had stopped his sobbing and Doctor Lecter pulled away slightly. "Can you... keep doing it?" He lowered his legs across the edge of the seat, no longer in the fetal position. He looked up at Hannibal, and their eyes met for a blissful moment. The boy's shining blue eyes were calmer now, radiant and beautiful in the soft light; the man's, smiling and welcoming, professional and reassuring -- and pitch black.

Hannibal nodded and smiled. He held the boy's torso firmly between his hands, spreading out his fingers to apply a wide and even pressure. His right arm ran along the boy's back, following the shallow curves of his spine and rubbing firmly in an even pace. He felt Will's muscles relax, releasing their last few spasms as the crying stopped. Hannibal took his left hand and pressed it against Will's chest, balancing against the force of his other arm. His spread fingers wandered slightly, adjusting to the boy's topography, running slowly over the shirt, massaging the boy's chest. His thumb moved, with a facade of professionalism and innocence, to his left nipple. It was slightly stiff, most likely from the stimulation. He pressed against it, enjoying the way it squished in, but being careful to keep it subtle, so the boy wouldn't question it. Hannibal's chest burned with lust; he _ached_ for Will. Just having him in his grasp was _intoxicating._

Will lowered his arms from his face, instead letting them relax against Doctor Lecter's chest. He felt so calm suddenly, surrounded and warm. Where the week had been a cold, static void, he now felt embraced, as if he was lifted out of the frigid ocean. He let his whole body soften, to forget everything that had been happening. He slowly and naturally came to rest against Hannibal's chest, which was warm and firm. He was too lost in the ecstasy of comfort to question whether it was strange. He let his barriers break down, entrusting himself in his counsellor.

He hadn't felt physical comfort like this in years. Will's foster parents would at most grant him short hugs, but he had always needed more; he went through life longing for physical attention and not getting it, eventually accepting the feeling as natural and forgetting about it. But now, his brain was flooded with the oxytocin it had been deprived, and it made him feel so elated that he started to tear up again. Will let himself rest there against Hannibal, giving himself the peace he had been denying that he deserved. His suit was soft, a gentle and calming shade of blue that felt pleasant just to touch. He was wearing some combination of scents that Will didn't recognize, but that he nonetheless felt comforted by.

Hannibal Lecter revelled in every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is probably the last time I'm gonna say this: this is all very bad stuff I portray; I'm not trying to make light of it at all, I really don't want to offend anyone, and I understand how serious it is. This is just a weird vent piece. That said, I hope you all enjoyed my erotic descriptions of a 12-year-old boy showering. Fucking hell. (I tried to keep it tasteful tho??)
> 
> Honestly I feel like Will would use 2-in-1 (& Hannibal would correct him), but I genuinely can't bring myself to write about someone doing something so absolutely irredeemable. He uses stuff with sulphates tho, that'll be what Hannibal changes instead idk
> 
> That deep pressure therapy stuff is real, btw. Temple Grandin. So is the cuddle chemical, oxytocin. It comes out when u do cuddles, and it's my favorite thing.  
>    
> If you wanna talk about stuff other than this fic, feel free to email me at HeartsickHand@gmail.com; just be nice uwu


	17. Disposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal Lecter returns from the campground the night Abigail dies, and "disposes of" the evidence.  
> WARNING: Pretty detailed gore!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to 2 months of working on this fic! I'm proud of me! This was supposed to be the exact day, but, it's passed midnight so like... I got it right in spirit, but it's a day off. That's generally how I post anyways.  
> Also, I got some inspiration for a sequel to my one-off. Stay tuned for that sometime soon!

Hannibal drove back home, calm and collected despite the fresh corpse of Abigail Hobbs currently stored in the back of his vehicle. He pulled into his garage and and began first by moving the evidence he had collected, including the girl, down into his basement. It was cool and dry, thoroughly cleaned and organized. This was his butchery: stocked with countless tools and memories. It would be where he spent his next few hours, honouring every part of Abigail.

First was the desanguination. Hannibal hoisted her onto a metal rack and bound her limbs firmly enough to hold her without damaging her soon-to-decay flesh. With a single finger he brushed the hair away from her face, admiring how it looked while it was still blushed with blood: pink and full. He tilted the rack forward so that she hung upside-down then craned her neck back. He pressed a curved knife to her neck, and pulled it precisely across her jugular veins, releasing a thick still-warm torrent of blood into the bucket below her. The flow waned to a trickle, and the trickle to a drip. Eventually she was completely empty of blood, pale as a sheet aside from the streaks of browning crimson crusted around the clefts Will had forged. The boy had been sloppy, but that was to be expected; his work was beautiful nonetheless.

Next, he would clean her. Hannibal set the corpse down gently in a smooth metal basin, admiring the way her hair floated gently on the water. The light spattering of blood on her skin began to wash off almost immediately, blooming into the pool and eventually distributing itself throughout it evenly, tinting it with a gentle rosy pinkness. He rolled up his sleeves and began to bathe her, using a soft sponge and mild soap to clean off the weekend's grime and blood and dead skin. She had very little body hair, sparing him the tedium of shaving her before moving on. When she was scrubbed clean and the water was all rinsed away, Hannibal stared at her: her wounds were but slits now, small and insignificant. They almost disappeared against her pale soft skin.

Most people would be shocked by how fragile humans can be. A single hit too hard, or a cut deep enough in the right place, and they can simply die. On the other hand though, humans can be resilient. The human body, in the right conditions, can continue living far later than expected. Perhaps it's the uncertainty that frightens people. Hannibal Lecter, though, had extensive knowledge of the human body. Having been a surgeon before his change in career, he could give and take life easily with the right means. For example: he knew Abigail Hobbs would have survived that first stabbing.

Will Graham had struck Abigail in such a way that, given immediate medical attention, she could have made a full recovery. But that complicated things. Will would be sent back to foster care, most likely, leaving him far away from Doctor Lecter's grasp. Hannibal wouldn't have that. He had taken a strong interest in the boy, sensing immediately his potential, and he was happy to see it unleashed on Abigail. She was a beautiful doe whose life was cut tragically short; however, she would pave the way to young Will's becoming of something more. (A shame, though, that she died in fear: the meat would be less flavourful and a touch acidic, considering how long she lay in pain. But a good chef is not purely measured by the quality of his ingredients: Hannibal was certain he could prepare Abigail far better than Garret Jacob Hobbs would have.)

After drying her off with a soft towel, he took her gingerly in his arms. She was soft, light, seeming no longer a corpse but now something else: a fragile sculpture of innocence lost, an opus in tragedy -- albeit, one he stole. Hannibal admired what Hobbs's work, but then, he had made a mistake with Elise Nichols. And Will Graham certainly complicated matters. Poetic as it may have been for _Hobbs_ to take her, the performance was now beyond him, made more beautiful and dark by Hannibal's hand.

He washed the blood off them, patting them dry before donning sterile gloves and eclipsing Abigail. His scalpel glided through her porcelain skin, down the centre of her chest and to her navel, where it was next met by two diagonals from hip. He spread her abdomen open, revealing the wet scarlet within. Her deep secret smells wafted forth, pungent and sweet; the still organs glistening in the light. Hannibal began the evisceration to a peaceful opera, his arms moving with the practised bravado only a professional could yield.

He scooped out the intestines first, writhing and wet, into a large container. Next were the bladder and the stomach, sloshing around gently as he moved them to their buckets. Normally, he wouldn't bother harvesting so much from one of his prey, but every portion of the girl would be put to use: even those parts not desirable to cook would be utilized elsewhere. Then the liver and gallbladder, the spleen, and the kidneys. They were all so small.

When Abigail's lower half was scraped empty, left nothing but a hollow scarlet husk, he moved on to the upper torso. The messy asymmetry of the gut certainly had its appeal, but Hannibal preferred the symmetrical, bloody chest. He made a long slit along the diaphragm and reached in with his long gloved hands. The lungs and heart were always such fun to prepare. Before too long, spattered in the small pockets of blood that remained trapped within, Abigail's heart emerged from her chest, just as the opera crescendoed. Hannibal admired it, turning it gently in his hands: hers was particularly healthy because of her age, a vibrant red even in death. He decided it would be eaten last. The lungs soon followed, leaving Abigail nothing but a shell. A beautiful shell indeed. Once the organs were stored in his freezer (with the exception of the liver, which he would prepare as soon as possible), Hannibal prepared to take the rest of the girl apart. The inspiration for each dish had not yet struck him, so he would first disassemble her, for ease of storage.

Her arms were the first of her limbs to leave her. Doctor Lecter cut underneath her right deltoid, peeling it back to reveal glistening red flesh and pale thin bones. He pushed back the shoulder as much as he could, bracing his hand against the cooling inner shoulder to reveal the arm socket. He scraped his knife along the humerus, severing the muscles that connected to it, letting them wetly snap back into the girl's body. He then took a blade and snapped the tendon attached to the bone and its fleshy counterpart beneath, letting the joint come loose with a gentle _pop_. He repeated the process for the left arm and binding them in plastic wrap, bent slightly beyond what seemed like a natural angle, and stored them in the freezer as well.

Naturally, Abigail's legs came next. They were thin but clearly strong, the slight swell of muscle distending, slightly, the lingering baby fat that clung thinly to them. Hannibal disposed of his slightly-bloody gloves, dried his hands of sweat, and grabbed another pair. Before he donned it, however, he ran his hand slowly up the girl's leg. It was soft, with no hair to impede Hannibal's progress upward. He appreciated them as if they were a sculpture, lovingly crafted and gifted to him.

When he prepared the operating table again, Doctor Lecter began by cutting the muscles of her right leg free from the pelvis, stripping away outer layer of flesh as a wet slab that pressed against his arm as he worked. Hannibal then scraped against the femur, freeing it from the pelvis's grasp. With a cut along the side of her crotch, her leg was left connected by nothing but bone, wrenching it free. He held the leg in his hand, again admiring its shape, appreciating the weight of it in his hands before he did the same for Abigail's left.

Now, all that was left to be detached was her head. For this, he took a less clean approach: (Hannibal, after all, was a man of aesthetics.) her head would be kept whole, and only a clean cut along the neck would do. He ran his finger along her spine, finding the spot where he would make his incision, flush with the gap between vertebrae. He marked a straight line lightly with a washable non-toxic dye, along which the slits he had used to bleed her were. The man pressed a serrated blade to her throat, pressing against and imprinting the sawblade on the newly-dead flesh. He started in a sawing motion, cutting quickly through her hollow oesophagus, which rang out wetly with every stroke of the saw. Then he met the tougher muscles of the neck, though he easily pressed through them; tendons snapped and muscles ripped, miraculously in-pace with the music. When was about to meet bone, he sawed through the sides of her neck and then switched to a finely-sharpened blade. He cut through skin and muscle to reach the joint, bending her neck to sever it. Then, when there was nought but a spine holding the head to her body, the blade went between the disk and her vertebrate, wiggling and prying it while firmly holding her head in his other hand, until it finally came loose with a sickening pop.

He burnt the evidence from the scene of the crime, and scrubbed away every bit of DNA from the knife. He kept Will's clothes, however, in the freezer along with his friend.

Hannibal Lecter sat before her, now, taking in the sight of what Abigail Hobbs had become. She had been tragically taken from a full life, transformed into a beautiful, macabre, broken form. There had been an... _intensity_ to the dismemberment that he seldom felt with victims, perhaps due to the way she bonded him to Will. But just as Garret Jacob Hobbs had left his victims "untouched", Hannibal had no intention of violating her sexually -- simply admiring her. His lust was focused squarely on Will Graham.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do so much research for this fic, i stg if anyone looked at the browser window all my work is on, they'd think me mad. Can you tell I am like, really horny for decapitations? Cuz I'm sure that'll come up again...
> 
> I'm really inconsistent between American and Canadian spellings, forgive me, but I generally try to keep the extra u's just for when the focus is on Hannibal, cuz yknow, he's a weird european idk. I like the idea of spelling differently based on their accent, does that track?


	18. Deluge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day is met with a horrible storm. Hannibal takes the opportunity to get closer to Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for 200 kudos!  
> I hope you're prepared for an unforgettable luncheon.

Dark clouds rolled towards campus, the distant streaking static of rain blurred into a grey wall. Hannibal Lecter watched out the window of his office, gazing down at the students making their way hurriedly across campus before they were hit by the impending storm. Hannibal found himself gazing out the window quite often, watching the children below. Admiring them. He only ever appreciated them from afar and in private, content to be a passive observer. He simply gazed down, searching for the one true treasure among them.

The torrent hit the edges of the campus, darkening the cement and prompting umbrellas to bloom out from the crowds. Doctor Lecter took out his phone idly, lingering on the contact page for Will Graham. He had held back on texting the boy, wanting to avoid coming off too strongly too early, but the time had come. Hannibal had seen the forecast and, figuring Will would be deprived his normal privacy, prepared a lunch for two, in the case the boy might want somewhere else to be for his mid-day reprieve.

He composed a text, gently inviting Will to lunch in his office. Raindrops began to spatter against the window, the battering of water suddenly changing the building's ambience to match the deep, soft rumble of the storm.

* * *

Will sat in class, struggling to pin his mind to the topic at-hand while the seconds drained by, the end of the period tantalizingly out-of-reach. As he waited, he heard the storm creep across campus and reach his building. He had always found the circumambient percussion of rain comforting. It was a pleasant kind of noise that provided something to focus on other than the annoying-to-disgusting sounds his classmates always seemed to make.

Eventually, the period reached its end, signalled by a gentle bell. As soon as it stopped ringing, there was a loud buzz from his bag. His first instinct was that it was Abigail, but his heart sank at it caught up to reality. He pulled his phone out while he walked out of class while he checked the text:

> Dear Will,
> 
> Due to today's unfortunate weather, I figured you would be put out of your usual lunchtime habitat. Would you care to join me for lunch?
> 
> As I understand it, you typically procure your meal around this time. I might suggest you forego the usual fare and instead simply come to my office during your break at noon.
> 
> I took the liberty of preparing a larger-than-usual meal should you take the offer.
> 
> Sincerely;
> 
> \- Hannibal Lecter

Will was happy to see the text. He was getting to enjoy Hannibal's company a lot. He responded:

> That sounds good! See you then.

He pressed send. He slid his phone back into his pocket to head to his next class before lunch, but his phone buzzed back just a few seconds later.

> Dear Will,
> 
> I look forward for it. My door will be unlocked; no need to knock.
> 
> \- Hannibal Lecter

The boy smiled, slightly amused by how formal Doctor Lecter was. He looked forward to seeing him again, and somewhere inside him, unnoticed, butterflies danced.

* * *

Hannibal pulled out a small folding table he had stored in his office, pulling up two spare chairs (less cumbersome than the ones used during therapy) to either side. Steaming, on either side of the table, were set two plates filled with food. The setting was intimate and close, due to the size of the table, but there was still plenty of room. Hannibal finished setting the silverware and two empty wine glasses and then sat in his chair, patiently awaiting the arrival of Will Graham.

When the doorknob finally clicked and turned, Hannibal perked up immediately. The boy came in, slightly damp from the rain, appearing as if an angel of the renaissance. His hair was slightly wet, clinging to his forehead and accentuating the curls. His glasses sprinkled slightly with water, bending the light in strange ways. Will normally took his glasses off before therapy, to avoid getting them wet, but Hannibal liked the way they looked on him. He was happy to see them worn for longer.

Doctor Lecter extended a small, posh towel and suggested the boy dried himself off. He obeyed, wiping the droplets from his face and neck, making them slightly pink from friction. The boy looked down as he lifted his shirt slightly to dab off the moisture, unaware of the predatory gaze currently cast upon him.

"Go ahead and take a seat," Hannibal said, gesturing to the table. Will went to sit down, and he continued. "Fried liver and onions, served on top of seasoned mashed potatoes and chives, topped with a savoury sauce," he explained matter-of-factly.

"Liver?" Will's face scrunched up a bit at the suggestion.

"I understand that children with autism often have more selective palettes. I opted to make a more simple dish: Moroccan home food. Balancing out the strength of the liver are the mashed potatoes, buttery and lightly seasoned. It should be fairly easy to stomach, but I won't be offended if you can't eat all of it."

Will reluctantly agreed, saying that if he doesn't like the liver, he could at least have to potatoes and onions.

"Would you like some music while we eat," Hannibal asked.

"No, actually. I'd like to just listen to the rain, if that's alright."

Hannibal nodded. "Of course." He glided over to the door, sliding the bolt on his door shut with a smooth _click,_ and then again went to the small fridge. "Would you care for a taste of wine? Today I have something red, but it's not too strong, in terms of proof and flavour. I used it to make the sauce, so after a few bites, you should find that it goes down fairly well."

Will nodded and thanked him, not questioning whether or not he should. He trusted Doctor Lecter's opinions with abating uncertainty.

The counsellor poured Will a small glass and himself a larger one, then returning the bottle before he took his seat across from his patient. He spread a napkin across his lap and pulled his seat inward, which Will immediately noticed and copied. Hannibal appreciated how impressionable he was.

"I've never tried liver, but this actually looks pretty good," Will remarked, examining the food on his fork. He lowered it from his eyes to his mouth, taking a small bite that started timidly, but soon grew more confident. He hummed to indicate his appreciation, soon taking portions of the rest of the dish to join the liver. After swallowing, he took a sip of wine, winging slightly but taking it better than the last time. "That's really good," he said in disbelief, more at his taste than at Hannibal's skills.

"One of the great Greek philosophers and physicians, Galen, believed that human emotion came from the Liver, as opposed to the heart or the brain."

Will scoffed a little in response. A boy his age would have limited knowledge of the human body, of course, but enough to recognize the absurdity in the idea.

"Of course, their understanding of biology was quite limited at the time. It was even forbidden to dissect human corpses. These days we know that emotions are a complex interplay between the electricity and the chemicals in your brain."

"You're not gonna feed me a brain next, are you?" He said jokingly. He was a little giggly from the wine, of which he would occasionally take small sips.

Hannibal simply smiled in response.

The two continued eating, letting the rain tap against the window in place of conversation. Hannibal would subtly observe the boy whenever he took a bite, watching the way his little white teeth peeked out from under his lips as he took the food from his fork. Whenever he got sauce on his lips, his tongue would immediately slip out and run along them, licking them clean and leaving them with a sensual pink shimmer. Will also closed his eyes occasionally, to savour the taste, batting down his full and dark and beautiful doe-like eyelashes. Every aspect of the child made Hannibal relish him even more. He loved the way Will's lips would gently part before they reached the edge of the glass, his teeth opening and inviting the liquid in. Hannibal's composure remained, but he grew stiff under the table, his voyeurism fed.

* * *

Will had been initially unsure about the liver, but now he was taking down the food as fast as was polite. He didn't even mind the wine much this time -- its bitterness was offset by the sweetness of the dish, but they didn't clash at all. The food was rather spicy, too, which he liked. The buttery potatoes were fluffy and flavorful, lightly seasoned to match the meat perfectly, and the onions were sweet and savory, offering a nice contrast. Then there were the chives, which added an element of freshness to the dish, elevating it just _that_ much further. It was the best meal Will had had in a long time, perhaps even ever. Not only were the flavors wonderful, but there was an extra _something_ to the dish -- whether it was spices or something else Will didn't know -- that immediately cemented it in his heart. Maybe it was just the fact he wasn't eating something prepared en masse? It felt somehow personal to Will. The boy explained his feelings about the dish to Doctor Lecter, who was delighted at the complement.

Some time passed as they ate, their dishes eventually growing shallow. Will was beginning to scrape all of the remnants of the food together to get as many bites as he could.

"How has school been treating you these past few days," Hannibal inquired eventually.

"They've been... okay." His fork paused to play with his food. "Honestly, I hardly remember them...." He looked up at Hannibal with puppy-dog eyes, then lowered them to his plate again. "They're not great."

"Jack Crawford has been inquiring about your grades slipping. It seems he's fairly invested in your development." Hannibal went back to eating.

Will started fiddling with his food more. "Sorry, I'm feeling a little bit better, I guess, but it's just... hard to get into the swing of things, I guess."

"I managed to chase Jack off, for the time being. But if things don't return to normal soon, he may take action without my advisement," he warned.

Will sighed. "Thanks. I'll try, it's just that... it's hard having to wait a whole week for therapy, I guess. It's the only thing after which I feel... normal."

Hannibal clicked his tongue. "Do you have any outlets for your frustrations, Will? Any ways to parse your emotions?"

"Parse?"

"Analyze."

The boy paused to think for a moment. "I guess not," he admitted. "I don't really know how I _would_."

"Perhaps more time with me is in order," Hannibal suggested.

Will nodded. "I'd like that."

Hannibal returned a warm smile. "I can see about getting you in for more appointments. Other than that, I recommend finding some kind of activity or hobby that lets you work out feelings and frustrations."

"I'm not one for sports," he moaned, hating the idea. "Too many people."

"I don't necessarily mean exercise or something social. Simply an outlet for your emotions, anything from physical activities to the arts." Hannibal smiled and returned to his meal

"I like to fish, but I can't really get off-campus to do that on my own," Will complained. "But I'll try and think of something."

The two continued eating the last scraps of their meals, Will finishing a touch faster, even downing the rest of his small portion of wine. When Hannibal finished his and the end of lunch break was approaching, Will pulled his seat back out to signify he was ready to go. "Thanks for lunch, Doctor Lecter -- and the wine," he added with a smirk.

"I figured you would appreciate a break from the mundanity of the cafeteria's meals. But please, just 'Hannibal'. No need for such formalities."

"Thanks, Hannibal," he said, slightly sheepishly.

Lecter stood up and began tidying up. "Perhaps we could have lunch together more often as well," he suggested.

Will perked up at the offer. "Really?"

Hannibal looked up from what he was doing, moving up to meet the boys, which he noticed were less guarded now. He smiled. "Nothing would make me happier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The courting begins~!!! Can you tell I like cooking? Cuz I like cooking. I know Hannibal makes fancy stuff but I think that in this story, he's gonna make really sweet homey stuff to make Will happy.  
> I also tried mixing up the formatting a little bit, kinda doing a little dance between Will's and Hannibal's POV. Hopefully that reads. See you all again next chapter!


	19. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's sexuality begins to stir in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5k hits, thank you! Sorry for the longer-than-usual break: small bit of writer's block.

The weekend was long and loud. With the weather growing colder, less suitable for outdoor play, his fellow students were spending more time inside -- and on this particular Sunday evening, the weather was too poor to go outside at all. During the day noise limits were minimal, leaving Will to deal with the reverberations that leaked through his dorm's walls by stuffing pillows against his ears. Despite his best efforts, though, the sound would permeate through, grinding up against his nerves and making him more and more frustrated. The only small blessing the day brought was his solitude within his room itself, Jimmy and Brian having said something about going over to another dorm to hang out. Will was invited to come along, but he was hardly in the mood to move, let alone socialize.

He writhed around under his covers, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. He hadn't slept well the night before, and he hoped to get to bed a little bit earlier than usual -- not that anyone cared. Will occasionally tangled and untangled his limbs, twisting onto his sides or his back or even his stomach, but no position felt natural enough to nap in. However, as he moved, he found position that had a different effect.

As Will rocked up against the bed to adjust himself, a small wave of pleasure ran its way through his crotch. He noticed, through repeat movements, that the weight of his body felt good when it was moved down to his hips, which he let move slightly against the mattress. He started slowly humping the bed, working out the rhythm and weight that made him feel best.

Before he knew it, the boy was masturbating, small cock pressed against the bed, uncertain of whether he should do it, or even if he was doing it right. He had heard of masturbation, of course, but he never wanted to point himself out as not knowing what it was by asking. It felt better than he expected. He tried to change the angle, to find the best position to put himself in, but eventually he began to grow soft again. The tip of his cock was slightly damp with precum (though he didn't know the term). Frustrated, he stopped. Besides, he was nervous of his roommates returning, and he didn't know how long it took. He simply lay in bed, struggling to, but eventually managing to sleep.

* * *

Will didn't realize he was dreaming.

He walked through the woods, whose tall trunks extended up for what seemed like miles, their bark pitch-black. The sky was pale, the last touch of pink sunset draining from horizon and leaving blackness in its wake, blending together with the forest if not for the spattering of stars.

He found himself on a long, winding trail that wove between the trees, barely visible through the encroaching brush. Will didn't know the way out, but he knew the path would lead him. It was a dry, rocky stream of dirt that carried him along, deeper and deeper. In the bent space and time of the dream,

As he continued, the shadows of the woods grew longer. Shadows were cast against the uneven ground, playing tricks on Will's eyes as if they wanted to disorient him, wanted to lure him deep into the undergrowth. The woods were hungry. Movements spotted by paranoia were as real as anything else; his fears manifested in the dreamscape just out of sight.

The sun finally bent below the distant horizon, dowsing the sprawling forest in a cool, all-encompassing shroud. Will needed a flashlight, and when he reached for it out of instinct, it was there. He turned it on: small and flickering, its light a dull bluish light, sapped of its warmth in the oppressive shade. He wandered further, sweeping the feeble beam of light to either side, hoping he might scare off any monsters.

He walked now at a brisker pace, blindly relying on the trail to lead him out, to lead him to safety. Fallen logs lay scattered about his route to either side, collapsing and covered with moss. Will swore he saw corpses, there, among the forest's remains. His pace increased, bringing him to a jog, but a thick mist was rolling in -- it was dense, dragging against Will's feet as he went, slowing him down as he pushed through it. He walked through the fog and fallen trees for what felt like miles. The trail was beginning to succumb to the overgrowth, losing itself for metres at a time. The tangled saplings and grass and weeds scratched at his angles.

Will hiked deeper, not knowing how far the trail went but knowing, somehow, that the way back was longer. Not to mention what terrors might follow him. The stark tall tree trunks and gnarled branches reached down at him. Their shape changed, too, as they grew deeper: some grew more smooth, pointy and more ordered. Silhouetted against the dim stars now were antlers, their dominating shape casting horrible shadows. Will wanted with all his heart to stop, but the nightmare would not allow it.

When he scanned the woods around him, pale skin shone back at him from a gap between trees. Will's heart pounded, his veins bursting with blood and his hair standing on end. He kept the beam focused on her position as she kept pace beside him in the forest, catching glimpses of her between the dark columns. It didn't take many glimpses for his heart to drop with the recognition of Abigail Hobbs. There had been times between classes that Will would, for a moment, think that he saw Abigail among the crowd. A shock of joy and recognition would run through him -- before the reality sat in and he was left reminded of what he had done. This time, though, it was different: the recognition did not fade, but there was no mistaken joy. Simply dread and guilt. Abigail remained silent, leaving her accusations to Will's mind, where they festered and boiled. Hot tears stung at his eyes, but he didn't look away. He couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to, because he knew he deserved to face what he had done.

Will was struggling forward as fast as he could, now. He realized that the path fell away behind him. He spun around, hoping to find another place. His eyes and his flashlight fell out of sync, and as Will was looking to his side, he suddenly ran into something. Something cold and soft. He noticed the light had gone out, leaving him in pitch-black darkness, and he looked down at his hand. The flashlight had changed in his hand. He saw it clearly in the night, clear as day: it was a knife, somehow. Will pulled his hand back, shocked, and blood gushed out onto his hand, warm despite cold flesh. He couldn't see, but he knew it was Abigail.

He recoiled, shoving his hands out and sending his friend down against the forest floor. She made no sound, but Will knew she wasn't dead. She was a corpse, but she was _anything_ but dead. He collapsed onto his knees, straddling her, knife still gripped in his hand. The thoughts that ran through Will's head then weren't clear, weren't sentences or words, but something beyond. With thoughtless cruelty, he pushed the knife into her again. Blood oozed out, warm and sticky, and black in the moonlight as he retracted his blade.

Will thrust down again. More blood. Again. _So_ _warm._ Again. His conscious mind screamed in abject horror and disgust, but deep in his heart some horrible lust reared its newly-born head. Each stab sent his conscience into pandemonium, and stirred the arousal in his soul. Will was crying the whole time; he barely processed how hard he was.

Blood, plentiful and warm, flowed continuously from every wound. It fell up around him, embracing him from behind as a familiar warmth, splendid and comforting, spreading across his back and down his sides as a thousand hands and fingers. They calmed him, slightly, but he did not cease his stabbings. In fact, he wanted to continue as much as he wanted to stop. The blood sprayed up at him in great gouts, pounding against his body. He let himself become coated by it.

The forest melted away into ichor, a calming black-crimson, leaving nothing else. There was just Will, and the pressure of the darkness, writhing around him and pressing down -- but it didn't feel _bad._ He knew that he should be scared of this dark prison, but it was more familiar than the cold unforgiving woods and what horrors lurked within.

A dark red glow enveloped him, and the tension moved. It was crushing, but it felt rapturous. He felt safe, somehow, in the crimson blackness. It moved down, extending past his stomach and around his legs. The pressure was writhing at his crotch now, warm and wet and horrible and somehow arousing. The darkness whispered to him, whisked away the disgust he felt for the pleasure, told him that he was okay... whispered that Will belonged here. He believed it.

Fear and libido mixed, volatile and dangerous, ripping through the boy's heart and into his cock. Will came, that night, swathed in blankets and sweat. He let out gentle moans as he did -- simply the sounds of a nightmare, his roommates thought. His underwear grew wet, only adding to the dream's illusion. The dream continued for some time, and something dark shook loose in Will Graham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would y'all be interested in me doing a reading of this fic at some point? I have a cute soft voice, it might be fun. Just a thought though idk.


	20. Session Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will makes another friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20th chapter, woooo!!!! Sorry again, folks, for the long wait. Just been having a few less-than-great days, in terms of motivation. Whoops.

When Will woke up from his dream, it stayed with him. For the first several minutes of the morning, he lay in bed, recounting the events. He felt disgusting. The dream stayed with him, souring and heavy, nesting deep in his gut. It weighed on him as he started his day, but he dragged himself across campus still.

The weather was pleasant, but biting cold. The early-morning autumn air swept through Will's clothes, causing him the occasional shudder as he huddled himself as compactly as possible, simply trying to manage the walk to class.

On his way between buildings, passing in front of the building he had therapy. He glanced up at the building, rearranging the building's layout in his mind to find out which window would be Doctor Lecter's. The morning sun peeked out from behind a curtain of clouds, however, casting a harsh glare across the glass. Will was about to turn back, but just then his phone buzzed in his pocket. His hands instantly leapt for his phone, even though his fingers were slightly numb.

> Good morning, dear Will.
> 
> As promised, I found another opening for appointments. Judging by both of our schedules, I'd recommend 6:00pm on Tuesdays. It's the latest I'm open for sessions, so there's no limit as to their length.
> 
> \- Hannibal.

Will smiled at the message as he read it, imagining the man's soothing voice as he did. (He was glad to see him drop the stuffy "sincerely" and "doctor" portion of the signature.) He typed back a quick response confirming the time, and stuffed the phone in his pocket. By now, the sun passed behind the clouds again, allowing Will to look back up at the building; he spotted Hannibal in the expected window. The man glanced down at his phone, and even from a distance through thick glass, Will thought he saw his thin mouth draw into a grin, before he looked back out the window. He locked eyes with Will and waved a silent hello, and Will responded in turn. His phone buzzed again.

> I look forward to seeing you. Have a good day, Will.
> 
> \- Hannibal

The dream was forced to the back of his mind by his small interaction with Hannibal, leaving him to a relatively cheerful outlook as he went through his day. He walked a bit lighter, his mind slightly-more at ease. When it came time for lunch, Will followed the leaf-blanketed trail into the woods at the edge of campus. When he came to the clearing, his heart danced: for a moment, the girl looked something like Abigail, but only in passing. He realized it was just a girl taking his spot.

She sat up a little straighter when Will approached. "Hey," she said. It was obvious the boy had his eye on the spot she had just found.

"H-hey...." Will trailed off, taking a moment to decide what to do. Before he could come up with his next step, the girl spoke up again.

"You can sit, if you want," she said. "I don't bite."

Will sat down awkwardly. "It's nice out in the woods, isn't it," he observed. _Is this how you do small talk?_

She sighed sharply. "I guess. I live out in the middle of nowhere, so I'm kinda used to it -- I'm there most weekends. I'm just here to get away from everything."

"Sorry for bothering you, then," he replied sheepishly.

"It's not a big deal. You don't seem like one of the loud kids." She smiled slightly.

"Thanks, I guess." Will looked around the scenery, avoiding looking directly at the girl.

After a few bites of her sandwiches, she spoke again. "I'm Margot, by the way."

Will's heart dropped when he heard her name. _Margot Verger,_ he realized. His anxiety started to leak out of him. "Oh..."

Margot sighed in response. "Oh, you know me as _that_ girl do you," she said, sounding both disappointed by and upset at him.

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that; I'm sorry," he explained hurriedly. "I-I'm Will. Will Graham. I uh... I met Garret Jacob Hobbs too, actually.... I knew his daughter, before she went missing...."

She paused for a second. "Will Graham... you know, my brother is always going on about you." She let out a short laugh, at herself or at Will he couldn't tell. "I should have recognized you."

"Yeah, your brother's kind of an ass," Will laughed.

"Right? He's a fucking psycho, you should see what he does at home."

"Has Mason always been like that, then?"

"Yeah. Ever since I was born, at least." Margot looked down at the ground. "Earlier than that, I don't know. Our parents would never admit fault in their firstborn." She let out a long sigh, lamenting some part of life she didn't want to talk about. "You should try living with a bully all your life. At least we don't share dorms."

Will hummed in acknowledgement. "I'm used to bullies. It's always easy to pick on the new kid, right? At least in my grade it's all new kids.... Your brother, though, he's worse than the other ones I dealt with. I'm used to pricks that would just laugh at you and keep you around, like some kind of jester too stupid to realize his position in the court. They were shitty but they weren't... I dunno."

"Sadistic," Margot offered up. "Most boys just want some more power, I think, but Mason, he.... Mason has all he wants. He just likes inflicting pain. It brings him a sick kind of pleasure in it. He _loves_ control." She paused, waiting to see if Will had a response -- he didn't. "Hey, if he says anything about me... don't believe it. He does that with most people I talk to. I guess he finds it funny to keep friends from me."

"I won't, I promise. I'm shit at making friends, so I kinda get it." _And my last friend...._ "D-do you want to exchange phone numbers?"

Margot reached into her pocket. "Yeah, sure," she said, holding out her contact information on the screen so Will could copy it down. "Just send me a text and I'll add it to my contacts."

Will obeyed, and Margot added him back. They sat on either side of the bench for a while as they ate, talking about classes and weird people they've seen around campus. It turns out Margot was a year ahead of Will, so while they didn't have any classes together, Margot had had several of the teachers and classes Will did. Together, time passed relatively quickly, and before they knew it the bell rang in the distance, signalling the end of lunch period. They walked out of the woods together, the autumn chill tamed now by the midday sun and the presence of another person.

* * *

The next evening, after all of his classes were done, Will was still feeling the warmth of friendship. He had gotten distracted just before by Margot, and ran out of time for dinner before his appointment. They had been texting semi-frequently, mostly about mundanities like classmates and teachers and homework. It came easier to Will than most small talk though, partly because they were usually complaining about it. That and Margot seemed to reach out more than Abigail had, probably because she didn't have anyone else to talk to.

Underneath all of the conversations, however, lingered Will's guilt about not preventing Garret Jacob Hobbs from taking her in the first place. He felt responsible when she lamented that part of her life and how it stuck to her reputation. He carried those troubles in to Hannibal's office, through eerily-empty hallways until he came upon the heavy and thick door he so often stared at. It was open a crack, letting out the faint melody of a gentle piece of nearly-ambient orchestral music playing softly from the corner. Will gently pushed the door in, figuring he was welcome.

"You're early," Doctor Lecter said with a smile on his face. "Take a seat."

Will obeyed, letting himself collapse into the armchair.

Hannibal sat across from him and ran his eyes across the boy. "You seem to be in a good mood," he observed.

"I made a friend," he said, letting some joy show in his voice.

The therapist cocked his head. "Is that so," he asked, without condescension. "Who might that be?"

Will was a bit slower to respond. "Margot Verger," he said.

"Garret Jacob Hobbs's final victim," he stated. "Does she know you were involved?"

"I told her I knew Hobbs. I don't know if she knew that before but she didn't really seem to mind. She definitely doesn't know it's my fault." Doctor Lecter let the silence linger. "She's easy to talk to, though. We kinda bonded over our mutual hate of Mason."

"How do you expect he'll react to your friendship?"

Will laughed nervously. "Mason will do what Mason does, I suppose. Not like he was taking it easy before."

Hannibal cocked his head. "Boys like Mason are capable of more than you might expect," he countered.

"You think so?"

"Margot has told me many things about her brother, none of which paint him as a boy who even has limits. You'd be well-advised to keep in mind how dangerous boys like him can be."

"Is Margot another patient of yours?"

Hannibal nodded in response. "I have a large number of students I attend to, and only several who come in for regular visits. Due to my expertise in the field, I take on the responsibility of many of the school's more problematic students, including the Vergers."

"How come Mason hasn't been kicked out yet," Will asked. "Seems like more of a shit than me."

Doctor Lecter inhaled deeply. "Boys like Mason can get away far more than the average student. Unfortunately the Verger fortune vouches for his attendance louder than I can decry it."

Will scoffed. "Great."

After a minute without any talking, Hannibal decided to change the subject. "Is there anything else on your mind," he prompted.

The boy shifted in his seat slightly. "I... wanted to talk about a dream that I had," he said.

The counsellor nodded slowly, prompting Will to continue.

"I... it's hard to start, I guess. I don't remember it all too clearly." Will's nervousness was clear in his voice.

"Just start from what you remember, Will."

"It was a.... Well, I woke up and...." He trailed off, his face blushing red with shame.

Hannibal cocked his head. "Nocturnal emissions?"

When the words left his counsellor's lips, the boy cringed and hid his face. From behind his sleeves he spoke, "...yes."

If his eyes were uncovered, he would have seen Hannibal's reassuring smile. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Will. For boys your age it's natural. There's no shame in you ejaculating during a dream. Has this happened before?"

"N-no," he said.

"Have you ever masturbated before?" His curiosity was more than professional.

At this point, the boy's face was bright red in embarrassment. "I-I tried it right before I fell asleep." Hearing it spoken aloud made Will cringe even harder. "I-it's not even that, really," he admitted. "It's more... what it was _about_ , the dream. Or nightmare, really."

"Would you like to tell me what happened? I promise I won't judge you, Will." Hannibal gazed at Will's eyes, displaying his sincerity in case the boy looked him. In the leg of his pants, his erection grew with his curiosity.

"It... I was in the woods. They were like the ones at the campgrounds, but taller, and darker." He glanced up at Hannibal for confirmation before continuing. "I think I was lost, off the trail. I kept walking, and it was getting darker, and I was looking around and then somehow..." Will's voice wavered, struggling to admit to what he did in the dream. "...somehow, Abigail was there, and I got disoriented, and I stabbed her." His voice cracked, spilling tears as he said it. "I remember being so scared, but then for some reason I kept going, I kept plunging the knife into her. It was like doing it again. I remember the way the knife felt on its way it, ripping through flesh and scraping bone." At this point the boy had taken his glasses off, and was dabbing his tears away. He started to sob. "And somewhere, in the dream, I..." A shuddered cry. "Instead of the knife, it," he began before trailing off, refusing to confess at the last second by impulse. "I was... it felt kind of like, I dunno... it doesn't make sense, I-I-I forget, I don't know--"

"Just explain to the best of your recollection Will." Hannibal's voice brought some calmness to the churning waters of Will's emotions.

He took a deep breath before continuing, but it still came out shuddering and broken. "I was... kind of, having sex with her, in a way, I think." Will's voice leaked off into tears, starting yet another crying fit as Doctor Lecter patiently waited. "The knife, when it went in... I felt all tingly, and I was all hard. But I was so _scared!"_ Will cried into his hands, letting out wet copies of the sentence. " _I was so scared_."

"What about it felt good?"

"I don't know, I just felt bad and... _good,_ at the same time." He paused and thought about it more. "The... the blood was so warm," he said, almost at a whisper. Hannibal readjusted his position in the chair and leaned in further. The music was still playing gently in the background. _"It felt good, for some reason."_ He said it like he was shocked at himself -- he processed it in a different way, saying it out loud. " And then... I just kept feeling good, and I woke up with my underwear wet.... I don't remember much else. I had to change before my roommates woke up and I couldn't go back to sleep; I felt _sick_." The tears had slowed down as he talked, but they started anew as Will's mind raced, given time as Hannibal processed what the boy said. "What's wrong with me," he pleaded. _"What's wrong with me?"_

"Our dreams are beyond our control Will, as are our desires. The human psyche, unchecked in slumber, can conjure horrible lies as well as it may contain insights of the self," Hannibal asserted. "I don't think your dream makes you a killer, Will."

The boy broke down sobbing, beginning and failing to form sentences or even words. He consumed an entire box of tissues in no time, and so Hannibal stood to bring him another. When he reached Will, however, the boy reached out for him, wrapping his arms around the man's waste and pressing his forehead against his coat, even now avoiding getting any snot or too many tears on the suit. It was soft and warm against Will's face, and a warmth radiated from his limbs through Hannibal's body.

The man crouched down to his knees, bringing himself level with Will. The boy sobbed and clutched Hannibal, who remained steady and started rubbing his back, holding him tight and trying to relax him. Will spoke with gasps between his words, each syllable coming out choked and desperate. _"It -- felt -- so -- good,"_ he managed say. _"I felt -- so -- so -- so powerful."_ The boy collapsed into a babbling mess of tears, shuddering even against the firmness with which Hannibal held him. _I don't want to be a monster,_ he wanted to say. _I'm not a monster._

Doctor Lecter held him, gently hushing as he stroked his back, moving one hand up to cradle the boy's head. "A person deprived of power seeks it wherever they can. Perhaps your subconscious chose to replay to you a moment when you had it. Such a process can't be blamed on you." He paused, waiting for a response from Will though he didn't expect it. The boy still shook in his arms. Hannibal took a moment to absorb the situation, smelling Will's hair and feeling the contours of his body as best he could without rousing suspicion. "It's not uncommon for a traumatic event to imprint itself on one's sexuality, especially when young," he explained.

The collapsed form cradled in his arms spoke: "I'm sexually attracted to _murder_ , then," it said in resignation.

"No, Will. You committed manslaughter, not murder." Will sobbed again. "Your sexuality and dreams are beyond your control, but you can't hurt Abigail. No one can, anymore." The boy in his arms squeezed as tight as he could, nails digging into Hannibal's back. He didn't mind. "Your dreams do not determine your morality, Will. That you're so upset only shows your compassion. Your conscience is still present, though it is shocked at your intrusive thoughts, appalled by your associations."

Will's grip loosened and he pulled back slightly, his blue eyes looking up at his counsellor, tears pooled in their corners. His eyes showed his desperation, his plea for innocence. His mouth trembled with words that went unspoken.

Hannibal moved his hand from the back of Will's head to the side of his face, using his thumb to gently wipe away the tears. The boy's cheeks were otherworldly-soft, hot and flushed. Will's pain was reflected, deep in Hannibal Lecter, as potential. He could smell the boy's sweat, the tangy scent of adolescence and tears and uncertainty filling his nostrils, giving him some horrible pleasure that he kept hidden below his suit. He reached to the boy's curly bangs that encroached on his radiant blue eyes, taking a lock of hair in his fingers and playing with it slightly. Will didn't seem to mind. Hannibal tucked it behind his ear, savoring how it felt as it brushed against his hand, round and soft. His hands were ravenous for more, but they remained still and measured as ever. Hannibal's dark eyes bore into Will's, reassuring and arresting. "You're not a monster, Will." _Not yet._

Again, the boy fell into his arms, where he would stay and sob, until eventually the record Hannibal had put on ended, and all of the tears had dried. Will was better, but nonverbal, and the session came to an end soon after without event. Even after he left the room, though, his presence lingered. The places he had touched Hannibal radiated with warmth, cherished until the imprints faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an idea for what'd happen in a sequel to (or other chapter of? which is better?) my one-off. Might find the time to write that soon, too. Tbh I've had some mad shota lust these last few days..


	21. Session Thirteen (Halloween Special)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margot and Will go trick-or-treating, on the most spoooooky night of the year!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy fucking Halloween! It's called the Halloween Special, because it's Halloween, and very special, so I indulge in a bit more long-winded writing than usual regarding holiday things. I really like Halloween. I think y'all will enjoy it!  
> (How tf do I do summaries btw??)  
> Now please, let me indulge in a full description of Hannibal's suit.

It was a cold Thursday. The sun was blotted out by grey clouds and the heat was whipped away by the wind, which violently pounded at the building. The breeze carried flurries of red and orange and yellow leaves, spiralling them through the air and brushing them against the ground. Despite the thick brick and glass shielding them from the outdoors, the autumnal gust made itself heard.

"I really like this kind of weather," Will said, staring out the window. Fall was always his favorite season.

"The final breaths of the season." Doctor Lecter wasn't dressed as festively as other staff at the school. While most teachers, particularly those teaching younger classes, and even other members of staff celebrated Halloween Eve dressed as delightful characters, he engaged in no such frivolity -- though he did integrate the Halloween aesthetic into his outfit. He was dressed immaculately as ever, in a deep violet suit and vest, with a coppery-orange shirt and matching pocket square. At the centre of the outfit was a purple-and-orange tie which, while it fit with a slightly over-the-top yet subtle Halloween aesthetic, was beautiful in its own right. The contrasting colours mingled in strange ways, the pattern seeming to fold into itself, its geometry unknowable and hypnotizing.

Will sighed. "I hope it isn't so windy tomorrow," he said with a sense of foreboding.

"Do you plan to go trick-or-treating?"

"Yeah, I'm going around the suburbs by campus with Margot. I'm gonna come back to the dorm after, so I'm supposed to be back on campus by eleven," he said, half complaining.

Hannibal clicked his tongue. "My house isn't too far from here. If you happen to be near, perhaps you could stop by," he suggested.

"What kind of candy do you have" Will asked in a teasing tone.

"Name your favorite," Hannibal responded, his lips drawn slightly into a smile. "I'll text you my address after this session."

Will's smile was wide. "Really?" He thought for a moment about what his favorite candy was... chocolate, or something sweet? "Um, I like taffy," he said, looking up at Hannibal, blinking nervously, but in effect batting his eyelashes.

Doctor Lecter bowed his head slightly. "It will be done," he said. "Just be sure to brush your teeth and floss afterwards. I hope you and your friend have fun. May I ask what you're going as?"

"Abigail and I--" He had spoken on instinct, not realizing what he was saying until it was already halfway out his mouth. "Um... we talked about going as Han Solo and Chewbacca. I actually have a brown sweater that I hate, but it would have been good for the costume. I was excited. But uh..." Will trailed off, his train of thought shaking and threatening to derail. "My mind keeps going back to that night," he said. "We were having so much fun, I already kinda committed it to memory...." He took off his glasses, placing them aside in anticipation of tears. "All those happy memories lead back to that night." The boy's voice cracked at the end of the sentence. "And I keep thinking about it besides.... What if they find evidence that I did it? I heard that cases can be solved way after... there could be something out there that gets me found out, and what about the body--"

"I assure you, Will: that's not possible," Hannibal said, even-toned and reassuring.

Will looked down at his hands. He wasn't crying, but they shook. "How can you be certain," he sputtered, short on breath. His mind was racing now, his anxiety running out of control. He realized a question, and it horrified him. "What... did you do with Abigail's..." He swallowed deeply. "...w-with Abigail?" he was shuddering now, his teeth chattering.

"You're having a panic attack, Will. I need you to breathe."

"I n-need to-to know," he said, making no attempt to breathe more evenly. He didn't think it was possible. "I w...as too sc-cared to think about it, I... I didn't w-want to th-think about it." Will started feeling a little dizzy; he felt like the world was dissolving away around him.

"Will--"

"What d-did you mean when -- when you said y-you were no ordinary therapist," Will interrupted. "W-why did you help me?" He voice trailed off into a whine, and tears began streaking down his face.

Hannibal paused. "I will do whatever it takes to help my patients meet their full potential. As your therapist, my duty is to help you, and I cannot report you any crime you have committed." Doctor Lecter stood up and began walking towards Will, tissue box in hand. "I couldn't bear to see you thrown back into foster care again over a simple mistake." Hannibal placed the tissues next to Will and crouched down in front of him, entering the boy's lowered field of vision so that he might look up at him. "I would do anything for you, Will."

The boy's crying stilled for a moment. He couldn't believe someone would do _anything_ for him.... After so long being neglected by foster parents and by the education system, he didn't think grown-ups really cared. But Hannibal....

"Deep breaths, Will," the doctor reminded him.

He obeyed, letting himself float above the cloud of anxiety engulfing him. His nerves still buzzed and hummed, but they too faded with the anxiety. He felt better having cried, if even for a moment. He opened his eyes, seeing his counsellor before him.

Hannibal looked back reassuringly. "Tell me what you plan to do for Halloween. It's best not to dwell on such things," he said.

Will sniffed and nodded his head, recomposing himself. Doctor Lecter walked back to his seat. "I uh, I have that coat, so I was gonna go as a werewolf or something," Will said, trying to ignore how sad his voice still was. "I uh, have an old mask I'm gonna use, and the theatre department had some costume stuff I found some wolf ears in," he explained. "I don't know what Margot is going as, though."

Talking became easier as Will explained their route, distracting him from his trauma with mundanities. By the time it came time to leave his face was still slightly flushed, but his composure was regained, his breathing regular. As soon as Will left the building, his phone buzzed with a text from Hannibal, giving his address and brief directions to his house, the former of which he stored in his contacts. Will looked forward to seeing the doctor outside of school, though he hoped he would be dressed in-costume for answering the door.

* * *

Halloween was as cold and windy as the day before, the wind still howling as Will and Margot made their way to suburbs. Will was carrying his werewolf mask in his pillowcase candy sack, scared of it blowing away. Margot was dressed as a cowgirl, her large hat making every attempt to fly off her head. Despite her rustic getup, she had makeup applied -- not much, mostly just eyeliner and mascara, but enough for Will to notice.

"My brother's throwing a party tonight," she hollered through the gale. "After we run out of houses we should go there, bum some snacks and drinks."

Will was hesitant. "You sure? Mason doesn't seem like a good host."

"He's not, but he likes to be the centre of attention. As long as we avoid wherever that is, we should be fine."

"If you say so," Will reluctantly agreed. He didn't want to run into Mason, but he could just wear his mask and stay out of the way, he reasoned.

They wandered around the suburbs, stopping at every house they saw, comparing the candies they got. Parents attending the doors would comment on their costumes, giving half-hearted compliments away with the sweets. The neighborhood was more festive than Will was used to, having lived mostly in lower-income areas, but he loved it: the gaudy decorations, the fake blood and the cottony cobwebs, plastic skeletons emerging from the grass beneath hollow gravestones. Some lawns even managed to put him on edge, luring them through the fake fog and the thickets of decorations, just to have a man camouflaged leap out as they reached the porch, screams erupting and turning to laughter. The kids walked away with a good bunch of candy in their bags.

The sun was setting, blanketing the sky in orange. They could still see well by the time they finished raiding the first concentration of houses, so Margot led the way to another. The neighbourhood had a park on one side, cutting through the woods and allowing foot traffic to pass to the nearby cluster of houses, otherwise only connected by the main road.

As the children made their way past the nicer paved area of the park and onto the trail plastered with leaves, the wind picked up again. Will took his mask off to breathe better, holding the string in a clenched fist, along with his candy bag. He and Margot talked about the cool decorations and costumes they saw, what they enjoyed about them and what they didn't. Eventually they went to compare candies, but when Will brought his bag up to his face to open it, he realized his mask was gone.

"Shit," he cursed, starting to pace around.

"What is it," Margot asked.

Will sighed. "My _mask_ ," he said, "it's gone." He started down the opposite direction for a bit, scanning the treeline and branches for the cheap plastic werewolf face. He ran his hand across his hair before it got caught on the headband holding his fake ears. _At least I didn't lose these_.

"Do you remember when you might have stopped holding it?"

"If I knew, I would have noticed," Will snapped. "We're already halfway through and it's getting too dark to look."

Margot started rustling through her bag. "Okay, look, I have a solution," she said.

Will stopped pacing. "What is it?"

"Come here," she beckoned, holding some kind of pen in her hand. "I have some eyeliner on me. I'll draw some whiskers and a nose on you. That way you can still be a wolf." She uncapped the liner and started moving towards Will.

"I--" Will let out a long sigh. "Fine. I'm still upset about the mask, though...."

The makeup was cold and slightly wet on Will's face as Margot drew, letting him feel the lines she made. When she started coloring in the triangle on his nose, it tickled, and it took a lot not to sneeze in his friend's face. "There," Margot exclaimed as she finished. "Maybe a bit more puppy than a wolf, but it'll do. I'd show you, but I don't have a mirror with me."

"Thanks." Will readjusted his ears, still a little upset at the sudden change in plans. "Come on, let's get through here before it's dark."

This second cluster of houses was less dense and smaller than the first, but the lawn decorations were even more extravagant. Apparently, this was the more wealthy neighbourhood. Margot and Mason's house and farm was closer to this one, as was Doctor Lecter's house, its drive branching off one of the streets further North according to the text Hannibal had sent Will.

They started by travelling down the road and then looping back at the dead end before they started zig-zagging between houses, slowly conquering the streets as they made their way North, visiting even the most isolated buildings. A few of the homes even gave out full-sized candy bars! Some of the houses here had large bowls out on the porch, labelled with signs to take one, or even two in some cases. Margot grabbed a handful of whatever kinds of candy she was short on, while Will only ever took one extra, scoping out his favorites and then nervously scampering away from the bowl.

Since his change in costumes, however, the people at the doors reacted much differently, to Will's embarrassment. Where before he had gotten the blanket 'awe, cute' that most kids did in their costumes, now virtually every mother and several fathers who opened the door fawned over him. Margot's makeup job, while simple, combined with the slightly-floppy wolf ears to make him the cutest puppy boy the neighborhood had apparently ever seen. He would even sometimes be given another piece of candy for it. The praise made Will blush, and he enjoyed the extra candy, but he vocally opposed it. "I'm a _werewolf_ , not a puppy," he would mutter as he walked back down the driveway. Sometimes other children would even laugh at him, having overheard the commotion on their own conquest for candy.

" _I_ think it's cute," Margot said, defiant. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Eventually, they reached the road Hannibal's house was on. The long driveway up the relatively large estate loomed in the distance as the two made their way towards it, stopping at the other near-mansions as they went.

The sprawling property beyond Hannibal's open and lit gates was large -- not so much that it stretched to the horizon or anything, but enough so that the massive house in the centre had plenty of privacy. Hedges and gates lined the perimeter, foreboding but not threatening. There were trees encroaching in the back of the property, Will could see, as well as several spots around the rest of the yard, though it certainly wasn't unkempt.

The house in the centre of the property was tall and slightly imposing, towering over Will at two stories, plus an attic and probably a basement. _Does Doctor Lecter live here alone?_ It was wide, seeming to the boy like it could contain dozens of rooms. Will was disappointed to see that there were no decorations on the lawn as he approached, but when he reached the porch he saw that set out were several immaculately carved jack-o-lanterns. They had been cut into, letting the flickering light within shine through at varying intensity, giving the carvings a strange flickering depth, where the deeper the carving was the brighter the light shone through.

Will was entranced by the pumpkins, each being elaborate and beautiful in their own way, all displaying clear talent. Some carvings wrapped around the entire thing, and some taking up only part. The one that attracted Will's attention wasn't any of the more Halloween-adjacent designs, rather, he was drawn to one of the carvings that seemed to have been done out of an artistic interest, moreso than in the name of the holiday. It was an elaborate and brightly-lit portrait of what Will figured was a cherub, rendered with loving attention to detail. The cloth loosely wrapped around the cherub's shoulder had a hypnotic depth and texture to it, swirling around the bottom of the portrait, framing it while also blending back into the pumpkin. His hair was thick and curly, looping out in all directions and encompassed by a halo through which an orange light glowed. It almost looked like...

Margot rang the doorbell and Will jumped up from where he was crouching down and admiring the jack-o-lantern. As soon as he finished standing, the door swung gently open. There stood Hannibal Lecter, holding in one hand a bowl of candy. He was dressed in a black suit, complemented by a red shirt, pocket square, and tie. His vampire costume was understated, even lazy, but of course even in his shallow attempt at a costume, he went all out: draped over his shoulders was a long, luxurious cloak. The fabric was clearly soft and thick, completely opposed to the thin, cheap fabrics so many costumes were made from.

"Will," he said, nodding. A wide smile spread across his face. "You make an adorable puppy." This time, the compliment didn't make Will cringe. In fact, the boy smiled back for once. "And Margot, an excellent cowgirl." He extended the bowl, presenting the two with an array of full-sized candy bars. On Will's side was a bar of taffy, the tangy kind he always eyed up at convenience stores but could rarely afford. The children both grabbed their candy, and Hannibal withdrew bowl. "You two have fun, and be sure not to go overboard on the candy. I'll spare you the lecture about proper tooth care, but do bear it in mind." He grinned, flashing fake fangs from between his lips, and the two thanked him and went on their way.

Soon after, the two ran out of houses to visit, but by then the night had fallen, along with the temperature. Margot led Will down the road to her house, on the way being passed by several vehicles ferrying older kids. Apparently it was a relatively upperclassmen gathering, but Margot assured Will that he would be fine if he stayed out of the way. Their parents were gone, allowing Mason free reign over most of the house, and he was of course taking full advantage of the situation.

When they arrived, music was blaring out the windows, with one room in particular flashing erratically through a range of colors. Margot led them through the back up to her room, where they set down their candy before sneaking down to the party.

They lingered around the edge of the crowd, mostly keeping their heads down and grabbing snacks. Margot, however, was slightly more socially inclined, soon falling into conversation with an upperclassman with flowing dark hair that curled neatly at the bottom, dressed as a witch and seemingly as uncomfortable as Margot was. Will was left among unfamiliar faces and feeling watched, so he grabbed as much food as he could and ducked out, sheltering from the noise behind a wall.

Occasionally he would look back into the room, seeing if he could find Margot. He couldn't find her or the girl she was talking to, but he did see beer. Suddenly he was aware of how much older everyone around him was -- they were upperclassmen, high school age. To a 6th-grader, practically adults. Will noticed the way they looked down at him, how much he stood out. He felt like he was being laughed at; he felt ashamed. The stimulation from all the sights and sounds and even smells, the bumping against people and the vibrations from the music shuddering up his feet... it had all been building up, and Will cracked. He started frantically looking for a room that had no people in it, but not somewhere like a bathroom where he wouldn't be left alone. He started rocking back and forth slightly, his body trying to pacify the mind with a steady motion to cling to.

There was a buzz in his pocket -- a text from Margot. _Are you okay?_ it read. Will started tapping back an answer, his hands trembling and his body still swaying. He had his eyes down and next thing he knew, a hand was on his shoulder.

"Awe, looks like a little stray wandered into my party," Mason's familiar grating voice echoed.

Will looked up, relieved at least to see that Mason was unaccompanied by friends. _No laughing crowd, at least_ , he figured. "S-sorry," Will stuttered. "Your s-sister invited me, so I uh..."

Mason cackled. "My sister thought she could invite someone to my party without my permission, huh? And to think it would be _Will Graham_ , of all people." He laughed again. "Come, follow me; I'll give you a little tour." Will was left no option but to follow, the larger boy's arm wrapped around his shoulders, practically dragging him along. "First, I think I'll show you where we butcher all our little piggies."

The boy's stomach started churning, realizing that Mason's talk about his 'meat packing dynasty' meant he'd have something like that. As they left the house through a side door, however, a pair of footsteps came rushing up behind them.

"Mason, what the hell are you doing?" The voice wasn't Margot's, rather it was the girl beside her who started the scolding.

"Alana I--"

"I don't want to hear it," the witch demanded. "Go back to your party." She must have been an acquaintance or something, because Mason actually seemed to pause, being outnumbered for once.

Mason pulled Will closer and whispered in his ear: _"I guess Margot will take your place."_ He shoved the boy away towards the girls. Will ran over to Margot, while her brother slinked away to rejoin the party.

"I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have brought you here," Margot started. "Mason... I didn't expect him to leave his friends, and I..." She looked over at the girl apparently named Alana. "I got distracted. I'm sorry."

Will was shaking slightly, consciously suffocating his reaction to overstimulation, ashamed and embarrassed. He wasn't socially savvy, but he knew kids his age would judge him if they saw him rocking. Crying was bad enough. He just nodded uneasily in response.

"Do you have anyone you can call to get you back," the second girl asked. "Alana Bloom, by the way." She offered Will a comforting smile.

Will nodded again. He still had his cellphone, and he was sure Hannibal would help.

When the doctor arrived in his vehicle, Will immediately felt better. After looking through the windows to be sure it was Hannibal, he slid into the back seat, diagonal of the man. "Are you okay, Will," he asked without hesitation. He started rolling down the driveway, slowly turning back around.

Will shook his head no in response. He didn't want to use words unless it was necessary, and thankfully Hannibal still had him in the rear-view mirror. The boy was rocking slightly i his seat, his arm pressed tightly up against his chest.

"I can see you're overstimulated. Nonverbal, perhaps?"

The word 'nonverbal' seemed right to Will. He nodded.

"I won't trouble you with many questions then. Did you get permission to stay off-campus overnight?"

Will shook his head. Normally parents signed permission slips, and Will had nowhere to stay anyways.

"Then the dorm will expect you back before midnight. That still leaves some time. Would you like to take a moment at my house to relax?"

The boy nodded, almost in excitement. "I-I'd like that," he muttered.

Hannibal smiled and began driving.

* * *

The interior of Hannibal Lecter's home was clean and calculated, but far from cold. The fireplace crackled in the living room, casting a warm red glow across the otherwise dim setting. There were paintings and bookshelves, fine wooden floors and comfortable rugs. It was nothing like what Will was used to, but knowing it was Hannibal's made him more comfortable. A pleasant savory smell wafted from the kitchen.

"I've just finished dinner for the evening, but the pot is still hot. It's a wholesome bone broth soup with plenty of vegetables and glazed meat. Plenty of nutrients for a growing boy like yourself. Would you like a bowl?"

Will, now mostly recovered from the party, nodded.

Soon Hannibal emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of soup balanced on a plate alongside some fresh buttered bread. In the other hand was a small glass of red wine. He set them on the dining-room table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for the boy to sit. When Will sat down, Hannibal gently pushed the seat in.

Will slurped the soup down eagerly, feeling its warmth spread from his belly through his limbs. The night was cold, but Hannibal offered shelter. He almost started crying for how good it tasted -- though he didn't touch the carrots; Will always found them too soft and sweet, and he couldn't stand the texture.

"If I had known you were coming, I would have used whole carrots and taken them out," Hannibal said.

"No, this is great," Will responded. "You don't have to do that for me."

"Perhaps I don't. That said, I would still be delighted to cook for you."

The night carried on, Will scooping out every last bit of soup (aside from the carrots) and sipping on his wine as Hannibal occasionally opened the door for trick-or-treaters, donning the cape and bowl from beside the door before he did. Eventually, though, the steam of children slowed and the candy bowl emptied, and Doctor Lecter decided to turn off the lights indicating he was available for trick-or-treating.

Will finished even the broth, comforted by how full and warm he now felt. Part of that must also have been the wine, which Will had also finished all of, the sting of the alcohol strangely complimented by the meal. He was rocking back and forth slightly, but he no longer felt overstimulated -- simply tipsy.

"What would you like to do now," Hannibal asked as he bussed the dishes.

"Huh," Will wondered. "C-can we cuddle? I -- I mean, do deep pressure therapy." The alcohol loosened his tongue but he was just as shy, looking up at Hannibal like a puppy. How could Hannibal resist.

"Of course," Doctor Lecter said. "But first we should clean off that makeup of yours." He led Will, who was slightly uneasy on his feet. Eventually, rather than letting him trip, Hannibal grabbed his hand to help balance. They arrived outside the bathroom.

As Hannibal opened the door, Will realized something. "U-uh, first, I have to go potty," he said, blushing.

Hannibal nodded. "Lean against the walls on your way in; I don't want you having an accident. I'll wait out here in case anything happens."

Will walked into the bathroom. It was far more ornate and beautiful than the cramped family bathrooms he was used to; definitely moreso than the dorm's. He ran his hand along the smooth purple walls, making his way back to the toilet. He clumsily unbuckled his belt and slid down his jeans, followed by his briefs. He waddled backwards and sat down, finally letting the pressure in his bladder release. From through the door, Hannibal could hear the stream.

When Doctor Lecter heard the sink start to run, he knocked gently on the door. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

With permission, Hannibal opened the door. As Will continued washing his hands, Hannibal crouched down to grab something from beneath the sink. He came back up with a bottle of some kind of gentle makeup remover, grabbing a small washcloth and wetting it. "May I?"

Finished washing his hands, Will turned to face Doctor Lecter, swaying slightly. He nodded.

Hannibal knelt before his boy and gently raised the dark washcloth to his face, wiping away the eyeliner from his cheeks tenderly and lovingly. The intimacy was not lost on Will. It felt nice, having someone care for him like this.

After Will's face was clean, Hannibal led him by the hand to the living room. Will sat down on the couch, clearly shy and waiting to cuddle. Hannibal sat next to him, his weight pressing down on the couch far more and slanting it towards him. Will was naturally drawn in.

Hannibal's hands were soft and strong as ever, moving around Will and following the flow of his body. The warm dizzy haze from the wine made it feel even better than usual to the boy. Hannibal caressed Will, moving his hands along the curves of his arms, his back, his waist.... His hands moved lower, further down on Will's body than normal. Hannibal ran along the boy's thigh, his fingers able to wrap most of the way around.

The friction axross his skin made Will feel like a slate being wiped clean, refreshing him physically, but moreso mentally. He felt stable and safe, some part of him that required contact now satisfied. He presses up against Hannibal's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

As Will lingered in half-sleep, Hannibal moved his hands ever so slightly and softly. He caresses Will's bottom, round and warm, unfortunately kept from his grasp by rough jeans. Will breathed steadily, and neither he nor Hannibal knowing if he was asleep. To Will, drunken and at-peace, those feelings were similar to in his dream, but less clouded by fear. Instead of a cold panic beneath powerful arousal, there was a calm warm feeling near the fire, with a milder kind of pleasure. He felt it touch him in places it ought not to have, but only briefly, and Will felt it was a dream -- he didn't see anything wrong with it this time. He drifted off slowly into a gentle slumber.

Hannibal kept his mind on the time, able to accurately guess the time even without a clock, so that he'd be sure to get Will back in time. For now, though, he simply lingered and enjoyed the pressure of the boy against his chest.

When it came time to leave, Hannibal awoke the sleeping cherub. He was so beautiful when he slept. He drove the sleepy Will back to campus, glancing back on occasion to see him nodding off in the back seat.

Soon they reached campus, and Hannibal had to say his goodbyes. He opened the back door to let Will out, unbuckling the seatbelt and gently ruffling his hair. The boy yawned and rubbed his eyes, gracing Hannibal with a short hug before he wandered dream-like into the dorm. All the while the man watched from the car, making sure his treasure made it in alright. Hannibal smiled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal what type of bone broth, what type of meat dude?
> 
> F-forgive how blatantly horny I am for Will this chapter. I have a slight thing for boys in bathrooms idk. There's something about puppyboys.... That boy fucking LOVES cuddles, man, he LOVEs them. AND I LOVE HIM. (and i love cuddles..)  
> Fun fact: Will's autism mannerisms are my autism mannerisms. He mostly finds comfort in the rocking, and the arm against his chest is his way of applying a kind of pressure to himself. It's not a conscious act.
> 
> Btw,,,, may i rant abt Vampire!Hannibal for a sec? thx. um i kinda hate when hes a vampire, cuz his character is so much more compelling when he's like, doing this just because he can? Adding that natural instinct to him to kill, kinda takes away from how much of a monster he really is, imo. I didn't make him dress as a vampire as a jab at that or anything tho (it's just because Hannibal would be immensely lazy dressing up for Halloween I feel), and if u enjoy it good for you, no judgment, not trying to start drama. I can just, never understand u.  
> (Disclaimer: I actually fucking love vampires, don't get me wrong. If I were to write vampire-y stuff it would be inspired by Poppy Z Brite specifically. Lost Souls and all its underage smuttery may have also been a major influence on this fic. Great book, tbh. That's my book recommendation, is Lost Souls by Poppy Z Brite. Also his book Exquisite Corpse, which... well, look at the title. It's also a big influence for me. And of course, shout out to my friend for helping me on this fic and also showing me those books. She's got big thanks in the production of this horrible fic!)
> 
> I worked extra hard on this chapter, so I'm gonna relax for a little bit. Might do another smaller fic & indulge myself, idk. Hope you enjoy(ed) your Halloween, and stay(ed) safe!


	22. Life Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months pass by as Will continues his life as normally as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone so long! I took a vacation from writing, talked to a few ppl abt my fic, celebrated my birthday. I got Death Stranding (and Mads Mikkelsen talks to you while you've got baby POV so like, that's been amazing for that alone -- and very distracting). Also the ever-present ambition-crushing numbness of depression.  
> I also worked out this next arc -- prepare for emotions and some light fluff!  
> I know I said I was gonna do that one-off sequel, but, I got some good cute ideas for this fic.  
> Damn, 7.5k hits! Wild, that this many people are seeing it <3

After Halloween, life fell into a type of rhythm. Classes blurred by, the homework easy enough that Will could keep up without devoting too much time to them. His appointments with Hannibal kept him going through the weeks. Before he knew it, autumn turned to winter. Thick sheets of snow covered the golden layer of rotting leaves, wiping away the color from the scenery. It painted the entire campus save for the sidewalks and other paved areas, already diligently plowed into great piles where children now played.

The younger students dug narrow tunnels in the snow, their small bodies slipping in and out of the frozen hill like ants. Will took some interest in the other kids' activities, digging himself a shallow hole and compressing the sides of it, leaving him a surprisingly-warm hideout to spend the his lunch period relaxing in. He was resting against the back of it, enjoying the coolness that his raggedy winter coat allowed through, when the ceiling started to shake to the sound of stomping. Will scrambled out in a panic, barely making it out before a foot plummeted through. On top of the snow was a larger boy, cackling in amusement. Will was immediately upset. "Were you trying to fucking kill me?!"

"Watch the language, Will," Mason scolded, "a teacher might hear!"

"Maybe I should call one! What if you got me stuck in there?!" Tears began to stream down Will's face as he yelled; some nearby students glanced over at the commotion.

Mason uprooted his foot from the cave, which almost completely collapsed as his boot heaved up back through the roof. He shook the snow from his boot. "I was simply testing how sturdy your little structure was! You know it's pretty dangerous to hide yourself away in the snow like that." The upperclassman's condescension was palpable, practically dribbling from his mouth. Will _hated_ him for it.

Will's fists and teeth were clenched in anger. If he hadn't any gloves on, his nails would have been digging deep into his palms. He breathed deeply, though, following Doctor Lecter's instructions and talking himself down from the edge. He managed to suffocate his anger long enough to make himself turn around and stomp off, to the amusement of Mason.

He hollered after Will, "Awe, off to play someplace else, Graham?" The comment made Will stop for just a moment, giving Mason the impression that he had won again, that he had gotten the boy back into his grasp. But then Will continued walking, leaving the upperclassman without the satisfaction.

The rest of his lunch break was spent indoors; he brushed off his jeans and lay his coat down on the floor beside the doorway to his next class to sit on. He wasn't hungry, so he had no food to eat while he waited, but he did take the time to enjoy one of the few remaining candies from Halloween. Margot had brought Will's bag back to him after he forgot it at the party, even stuffing a few of the leftover candies from the snack table into the bag so it lasted a good while.

At first, Will had been scared that Margot would forget about him after meeting Alana. The two seemed to always be together. But Margot still made time for Will, and he was even beginning to get along with Alana. They were both kind without being condescending and, for the first time in perhaps his entire school career, he felt like he was a part of a friend group -- albeit, he was the young shy one, and he sometimes felt like a third wheel. But even then, he found comfort in their relationship.

He took out his phone as idle entertainment during the last few minutes before the bell rang. With help from Hannibal (and a promise to not use it in class), Will had loaded it up with some simple puzzle games. In the middle of filling out a Sudoku, his phone vibrated, displaying a notification from Hannibal. Without any hesitation, he navigated to his messages.

> Dear Will,
> 
> I hope you enjoyed your lunch.
> 
> -Hannibal

While Doctor Lecter kept his language professional and almost clinical at times, the two had been having more frequent and casual conversations. Hannibal would often check up on Will, even asking about things like his weekend plans, but moreso inviting responses than prompting answers. It took a lot of pressure off of Will to respond -- something he greatly appreciated. In fact, Will found himself talking to his therapist more than his friends. Normally Will hated small-talk, but with his therapist it was never as difficult as with others. Hannibal respected and understood Will's communication preferences, and he never pushed him in that regard; he was always kind and accepting to Will; he was a great listener. When Hannibal was the one speaking, Will felt like he was respected -- an equal, even. It was a welcome change from how most adults spoke to him. He always had interesting things to say, and barely talked otherwise, sparing Will the pressure of keeping up a conversation -- neither Doctor Lecter nor Will Graham felt the need to fill the air with petty conversation. The boy felt at ease around him, not feeling the need to force himself into the strict and arbitrary rules and habits of neurotypical society.

Will texted back, tapping away at the keyboard, making several mistakes in typing but always correcting them (something he didn't do when texting others). He told Hannibal what Mason did, and how he managed to hold himself back. His restraint, however, did not keep him from typing a couple angry paragraphs about the Verger. He got a response almost immediately:

> Will,
> 
> Your hatred of Mason Verger is well-deserved -- though you did well to soothe it. Having gone so long without incident, Jack Crawford's expectations of you have been raised. Keep that in mind as both congratulations and as a warning.
> 
> Perhaps we could discuss Mason further over lunch tomorrow. It seems that my usual appointment during your lunch period was cancelled. Would you like to have our appointment then? I thought I might prepare some food as well.
> 
> Sincerely;
> 
> -Hannibal

Hannibal had been inviting Will to lunch and dinner occasionally over the past several weeks, and those meals were always the highlight of the boy's day (as well as the doctor's). Recently Hannibal had been serving rosé, allowing Will to slowly adjust to bitterness of wine by masking it with sweetness. He would always finish his small glass, heading to class warm and well-fed and slightly pacified by the alcohol -- though never enough to impede the boy's performance in class, Doctor Lecter ensured. Will quickly texted back a response; it had been too long since the last time they ate together.

Later that evening, after classes, Will also got a series of texts from Margot.

> Hey
> 
> Alana & I are going 2 dinner soon
> 
> Wanna come?

Will paused. Did he want to hang out with Margot and Alana? Or could he handle it? He had come home from classes exhausted, and didn't exactly like the idea of spending time socializing, though part of him still wanted to. _Maybe. Been tired, idk if I'd b much fun,_ he replied.

> If ur tired u don't have to stay long.
> 
> Neither of us would mind if u arent talkative. Well manage
> 
> We'll meet in there abt 6, 6:30?

He was glad the two seemed to understand he was quiet sometimes, but Will was still uncertain. He told himself, though, that he has to eat anyway, so it may as well be with Alana and Margot. At least then there wasn't the possibility of sitting by some random person and having them talk to him. _K, see you there, 6:30 sounds good,_ Will texted before shoving the phone back in his pocket. Hannibal had been paying for unlimited texting, insisting he did so to help his patient socialize, so Will never had to worry about running out. Simply thinking of Doctor Lecter, the boy smiled.

The dining hall was loud, full of the sound of cooking and eating and talking and yelling, assaulting Will's senses. When he found the girls, they already had their food and were talking about some shared homework assignment, so Will just waved and set his bag down on his seat before announcing he was going to go grab his dinner.

Will managed to tune out the noise as he waited in line, melting into the creeping flow of bodies until he finally got his food: a dry burger, apparently boiled or something, and some canned corn, also boiled, along with a carton of milk to drink. He slathered the burger in ketchup and mustard, doing all he could to grant it flavor. He headed back to the table and set his tray down, sliding onto the bench next to his friends. Margot and Alana waved when he got there, but they were already in a conversation; Will just smiled and went to his food.

His head was hanging over his tray as he ate, staring down into the middle distance as he mindlessly ate. The food wasn't great, but at least it was edible. Some days, he couldn't stomach any of the choices, eating an apple and nothing more if there were no sandwiches available. Sometimes, he couldn't manage the appetite to finish. He wondered how delicious a burger made by Hannibal might be -- he certainly enjoyed his grilling when he tried it, and he'd probably know how to top it well.

Occasionally, Will would tune into the conversation next to him. Margot and Alana were talking about teachers they'd, comparing how mean they were, how easy their homework was, et cetera. As Alana explained another teacher, Margot sat up in recognition. "Oh my gosh, isn't she hot?" The two burst into giggles, the conversation quickly veering over to a debate over which teachers were hottest.

Will recognized a few of the teachers mentioned, and had been learning more teachers' names and classes thanks to his friends, but he didn't see what the girls were talking about. He supposed there were some attractive teachers, but he was never attracted to any. Not that his aversion to looking them in the faces helped with that.

"Do you have any crushes, Will?" Margot looked over at him expectantly.

"W-well, I don't know so many... I haven't had many teachers," he explained. "Does it have to be teachers?"

"Do you have any crushes on classmates?"

Will thought for a moment. "I don't think so...."

" _Wellllllll,_ do you have _any_ crushes?"

Alana interjected. "Maybe he's too young for that."

Margot scoffed. "Even little kids get crushes!"

Will blushed, embarrassed, at the implication that he was a _little kid._

"He could be aromantic, or asexual," Alana suggested.

"I-I've had crushes before," he explained. Margot and Alana stopped facing each other and turned back to Will. "I just, move around a lot, so I never acted on 'em or anything. I just kinda... forget about 'em."

"Well, Will," Alana asked, " _do_ you have a crush on anyone? Anyone here?"

Will scanned his memory, thinking about everyone he knew here. There weren't very many, and none stood out to him. Then he just started thinking beyond his teachers. There was a contemplative look on his face as he looked again at what faces he could remember -- but suddenly, visibly, the process stopped. Redness flushed into Will's face, and he smiled slightly as the man came to mind.

The girls cooed. "So there _is_ someone," Alana said, a smile spreading across her face. Margot, too, was alight with interest. "Who is it?" Alana chimed in again, "Is it someone we know?"

After the last question came out, Will's already-faltering eye contact broke, instantly telling Margot and Alana that they were getting closer. They started rattling off people either of them knew and that they knew Will knew too. The boy shrugged resolutely, refusing to give more hints as the two guessed frantically. "Oh!" Margot perked up. "Is it Doctor Lecter?"

As soon as they guessed correctly, Will's stomach lurched. Yet more blood rushed to his face, and he could tell how obviously he gave it away.

"Oh my god, really?" Margot chuckled.

"Doctor Lecter?" Alana thought for a moment. "I think I've seen him. Is he the one who always wears the fancy suits? I think he's pretty handsome."

Margot whipped around to face Alana. "Both of you? Really?"

"What, like you have a taste in men?"

"Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean I can't tell when men are and aren't hot," she rebutted. "He's a good therapist but he's so, like, clinical and stuffy. And isn't he European?"

"Well, I wouldn't know anything about how he acts," Alana explained. "I only remember him because he's always in a different suit. I see him sometimes when I'm waiting to see my counsellor."

The girls then fell silent, waiting for Will to chime in. He did, shyly and eventually. "H-he's actually been really nice to me," he admitted. "And he makes really good food. I-I had some of his food at the grill-out at the start of the year." He thought it best not to disclose their private meals; he couldn't risk people finding out that Hannibal gave him alcohol, even his friends.

"Ooh, I like a man who cooks," Alana said. "So, you _do_ have a crush on him?"

"I-- I dunno. M-maybe a small one," he said sheepishly. He played with his hands nervously as the girls giggled. As embarrassed as he was, Will was happy to be a part of the conversation.

"I knew you had someone," Alana exclaimed.

"Do you have any _other_ crushes then," Margot pried.

Will responded honestly. "I mean, I've seen cute people around but they just never seemed quite my type. I dunno, I don't think I'm ready for that kinda stuff right now." He finished the sentence before remembering to add something to continue the conversation. "W-what about you two?"

When he asked the question, the two girls looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes before shrugging.

Conversation eventually died down again, leaving Will to finish his dinner. When he was done the girls had moved on to some other topic he didn't know about, so he decided to leave before they did. Margot and Alana waved goodbye to him, smiling, and Will returned the favor. Difficult as it was sometimes, he enjoyed talking to friends.

* * *

The next day, during his session with Doctor Lecter, Will explained how he felt getting closer to Alana and Margot. Hannibal praised Will for his willingness to step outside his boundaries and try socializing more, and he was glad to hear that the two accepted most of Will's behaviour typically seen as odd. Therapy sessions as of late had been simpler, less concerned with Will's past traumas and instead shifting more to managing daily life. Hannibal understood that the boy would come forward as he saw fit, and while they weren't necessary, the two sessions a week granted some well-needed positivity and rhythm to the boy's life.

For lunch, Hannibal had served large steaming bowls of Indian curry. Will had never had it before -- in fact, he rarely had had anything but common American and Italian foods before he met Hannibal -- but he instantly fell in love. It was a cold day, with piercing winds that had made the morning miserable and cold. But as his belly filled with warm food and his mouth stung with spice, a warmth filled him; the rest of the day, the wind seemed to flow right past him.

Friday passed without event, welcoming yet another boring weekend. Saturday, Will spent most of his time in his dorm, watching snow fall past the window. Scared of bothering his friends, he sent no texts. When the evening came, he received a message: Margot had invited him and Alana to come along for a walk. Apparently Mason had been bothering her, trying to get her to check it out. Not wanting to go somewhere alone with Mason and his friend, Margot invited hers. Mason was Mason, and of course Will couldn't trust him, but he didn't want Margot to be alone. He understood how horrible he was to her, felt it in Margot's eyes and her voice when she talked about him. He figured Mason wouldn't try anything against three people.

Alana, Margot, and Will met at the edge of campus, clad in jackets and scarves and thick boots. Will's boots, being old hand-me-downs, allowed some snow to creep through and dampen his socks. They went to meet Mason, who sarcastically introduced his friend as Randall Tier. Randall was strange, for sure, and he seemed the type to gravitate around a boy like Mason, but he didn't seem quite so cruel as his friend. Granted, few reached Mason's level of sadism.

They started trudging through the forest, whose branches were bare and burdened by snow. Clumps of snow would occasionally slip off their narrow resting places, plunging down with a loud _poof_ and causing Will to jump -- of course, Mason and Randall found this hilarious. The four would ask Mason where they were heading, but he kept it secret. He simply assured the group that it was something they had to see, giving away no other hints but a sly grin.

At the end of their journey, there was a small clearing. Freshly-fallen snow blanketed the area, bulging up around unknown shapes now buried. The only thing not completely covered was a small green tent, its entrance zipped closed and half-coated by frost. "Is this all," one of the kids asked, upset they had gone so far for a barely-interesting abandoned camp. In response, Mason unzipped the shelter.

Inside, wrapped in a stiff, thin blanket, was the corpse of a woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is such a weird combo of middleschool/highschool/university experiences, even elementary. Man,,, I hope it comes off more-or-less coherent. I did some research on boarding schools but like, it's hard to do that never being to one before? But I thought it would be a good setting since like, Will needs fancy therapy & the dynamic of also having shitty highschoolers bullying this poor 6th-grader is like, good. (Not quite sure which grade exactly Mason & Margot & Alana are in tbh. suggestions? The wiki says the Vergers are twins & I totally forgot, but idk if they should be twins in this. I dont think it matters too much anyhow.... Excuse my rambling.)  
> Hopefully next chapter is out quicker. I know how much it sucks when an author slows down, understandable as it may be. I just, really wanna please y'all, you know? I actually had to split this one into two because I think it got a bit long. The next half is planned in detail. I wanna get back into the swing of things soon! xoxo  
> Is anyone interested in seeing how I outline this shit? It's kinda chaos but I'll keep this chapter's outline & rough draft so I can link it in the notes next chapter, if like, someone wants to know how I write?? Just comment, if that's like, something anyone would want idk. Hell I'm just open to questions in general. Missed y'all!


	23. Upheaval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's life changes for the worse.

The body before them was visibly frozen, its dead skin peaking out from the thin coverings and glistening with sickly frost, streaks of blues and purples threaded through the frigid flesh. The hair was matted, with frozen beads of moisture clinging to it; the cold sun filtered past the heavy branches of the forest and through the thin canvas of the tent, dancing across the ice.

Rot clung feebly to the air. The scent was faint, but it lent the surrounding area a sense of unease. Inside of the tent, it was even more apparent. Will gagged when it invaded his nostrils, snapping him out of his shock. He reeled backwards, desperately flailing and falling over himself, leaving him sprawled out on the snow as the echoing cackle of Mason rang out.

As the other children screamed or yelled, all backing away, Will was heaving on his hands and knees, sobbing as he retched onto the snow, staining it horrible colors and adding to the horrible stench, making Will feel more sick by the second. The corpse had brown hair, matted and slightly curled, but straight. The person, whoever it had been, looked almost like Abigail might have, had she reached adulthood. Enough, anyways, for Will's mind to make the connection.

Margot and Alana were gagging and covering their mouths, beginning to recover enough to begin scolding Mason. Randall looked at the corpse, drawn in by fear or fascination. Mason laughed, excused himself, but Will didn't pay him any mind -- not that he was able. The boy had pumped his stomach empty, leaving nothing to come up no matter how hard his body was trying. He dry heaved on the ground, shuddering and shattering in the snow as silent screams tore through him.

Alana took out a phone, dialling 911, while Margot yelled at her brother. Will couldn't focus on any of the voices, but he was overwhelmed by Mason's laughter. At some point, Will's face was tingling, his head was spinning, and he felt himself slip away into numbness.

He felt as though he lay at the bottom of a pond, separated from the world above. Only faint muffled sounds reached him. He felt Alana kneel down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder, but Will shook it away -- even the slightest touch was unbearable. She asked questions he couldn't understand, and he didn't answer.

Some time later, police arrived. There was some talking before an officer knelt down to get Will, grabbing him by the arm too tight and trying to pull him to his feet. Will resisted, pulling his limbs close and shaking free of the rough hands. Another officer came, though, and together they roughly threw him in the back of the car, binding the seatbelt tightly around him and making a pathetic attempt at reassuring him he'd be okay. The force of their grips stung on his flesh as he squirmed in the back seat, and he and the others were taken back to school.

Mr. Crawford took all five into his office, grabbing spare chairs so they all had space to sit. He looked concerned, and upset, his face twisted in frustration as he thought. Alana and Margot had explained what happened, with Randall and Will staying silent. Occasionally Mason would but in with a snide remark or retort, prompting Mr. Crawford into small fits of rage. As he was deep in thought, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," boomed the headmaster. Will heard the door open, but did not turn to face it. "Ah, welcome Doctor Lecter."

The name stuck out of the conversation, grabbing Will's attention. He turned around, seeing Hannibal dressed in shockingly casual clothes. Rather than his usual suit, he had on a simple blue sweater. "I came as fast as I could," he explained. He turned to look down at Will, giving him a gentle nod _hello_.

The headmaster gestured towards Doctor Lecter. "Some of you know him already, but this us Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Rather than have to coordinate with several counsellors for the lot of you, I want you all attending regular sessions with him regarding this. He already knows the gist of things, so he'll be able to take care of you." Hannibal nodded in response. "I understand how hard this must be on you all. Doctor Lecter and I will be here to make sure you get whatever you need."

Hannibal leaned down to Mr. Crawford's ear, quietly saying something as he looked over to Will, apparently concerned. Jack nodded and began talking to the kids again, answering their various questions. Doctor Lecter, meanwhile, glided to Will's side, crouching down. He gently led the boy to his feet, wordlessly leading him outside the room -- practically carrying him.

As the door closed on the empty lobby, Hannibal scooped Will into his arms, pressing him against his chest. The boy's face rested on Hannibal's strong shoulder, his sweater warm and unbelievably soft. He ran his hands along Will's back, who shook and cried and clutched at his only comfort in the world. "Everything's going to be okay, Will. I've got you," he said quietly. "It was unfair for Jack to keep you with other people. Now let's get you some privacy," he said.

Hannibal held Will in his arms, unlocking his office to keep Will in. He set him down gingerly, letting his fingers run through the boy's soft hair as he retracted. "It-it--" he gasped, "sh-she looked like Abigail." His words stung as they left him, taking every last ounce of spare energy to even enunciate them.

* * *

The past several nights, Will suffered night terrors. He would wake up in a cold sweat, nauseous and scared, clutching a bag for when he had to throw up. This also meant Jimmy and Brian hadn't been getting sleep either: the uneasy turning of Will on the top bunk, squeaking the wood together; the boy's sobs too loud to ignore; his vomiting moreso. It had been about a week now since Will spoke, and he had spent it almost entirely in his room. Brian and Jimmy remained sympathetic, but didn't quite understand what their roommate was going through -- initially they had prodded at Will, asking him what the body was like, but it didn't take too long for them to realize Will wouldn't answer. In an attempt to cheer him up, the two said they had always been curious about dead bodies. They thought it would be a fun movie moment -- not that it turned out like that. It made Will feel more pathetic than ever.

Doctor Lecter had recommended that Will be excused from classes until he could speak, and though Mr. Crawford was reluctant at first, the doctor eventually got his way. He also volunteered to collect the boy's homework, which ended up sat in his bag the entire time. He knew they would be due before grading finished over the winter, but they kept piling up, fattening his bag. It sat there, weighing on his mind. Will knew he had to do it, but at some point it had gotten to seem like too much. Anxiety about it buzzed in the back of his head, making it impossible to work up the energy to make an attempt.

For meals, Will would be brought a PB&J and bottled water, along with a cheap flavorless apple. He didn't particularly like it, but it was all he could keep down -- his appetite had gone with his voice. He ate alone, again, silent and slow. In a couple days, at least he got to see Hannibal again. He was the only person he could choke out a sentence or two for. He missed his cooking. Will went to bed early, after he ate, knowing it would take forever to fall asleep.

The night was uneasy, Will's dreams suffocated by shadows and being engulfed by tides of black water that bubbled up from below. He tossed and turned in his sleep, shaking awake Brian below him. The other boy tried to get back to sleep, holding back his frustration towards Will. But as the nightmares began to drown Will, he began to lose control of himself. As he still slept, his pajama pants grew dark and wet. Urine seeped onto the blankets, eventually making its way down in small beads. Brian Zeller lost control when a drop landed on him, confirming his suspicion about the smell.

"WHAT THE--" Brian yelled, hopping up from his lower bunk, landing a few more drops on him as he did. He stormed over to the doorway and slammed on the light, in combination startling the other two awake.

Will sat up, thwacking his head against the ceiling. When the dizziness wore off, he realized how wet the bedding was. His stomach plummeted, simultaneously wanting to flee the stains and to cover himself up completely, hiding from Brian.

"Woah woah now, what's up," Jimmy asked as he rubbed his eyes. Upon opening them he exclaimed, "Oh."

Brian was pacing back and forth, violently towelling himself off. "This idiot pissed on me!" He pointed at Will, who cowered against the wall and started crying. "I get he's _'going through a hard time,'"_ Brian sarcastically remarked. "But he's crying and vomiting like a _baby!_ And now he's wetting the bed like one too!"

"Oh come on now--"

"I'm sick of it!" Brian interrupted. He whipped his towel down at the ground in frustration.

Jimmy stood up, trying to calm Brian. "Let's just get the dorm mother to clean it up, okay? You should go take a shower," he said, "you smell like piss."

The boy pouted and sighed. "Fine -- but I'm telling Mr. Crawford I'm sick of him," he said, glaring up at Will. He grabbed his shower caddy and a change of clothes before storming out of the room. "Jimmy, you tell someone to clean this up."

After the two had left the room, Will managed to slow his crying. He felt disgusting and uncomfortable, and wanted to get into the shower before people started waking up. As an added bonus, he could just wait for Brian to go off to class or whatever while he was showering. So he uneasily clambered down from his bed, where he stripped off his wet clothes. He put them in a plastic bag and tossed them onto the bed, hoping they'd be cleaned too. He put on a pair of dirty shorts, grabbing his shower caddy under his arm and holding his fresh set of clothes and towel as far away from himself as he could. After peeking out of the dorm to make sure it was clear, he sprinted to the bathroom.

Will set his stuff down in the corner, tucking it away as much as he could in hopes that Brian wouldn't do anything to it. He grabbed the towel and tore his shorts off and ran into the nearest shower stall, reaching his hand out to hang up the towel before he shut the door and turned on the water. That itchy uncomfortable dampness was washed off, taking with it some of the nightmares. He hadn't had the energy to shower as often lately, even though he enjoyed showering, and the hot water relaxed him. He felt cleaner, slightly less weighted by the world.

He cleaned himself well, scraping away his dead skin and revealing a soft pink glow. Will watched his arm as water flowed around it, gripping his hairless body and conforming to its curves in thick, rippling sheets. He appreciated the way the water distorted the view below, casting confused light. He saw the way it split around his fingers, covering different amounts of skin and watching the cascade divert around it. He pressed the mangled shard of plastic against his skin. The water barely parted, flowing around it with ease. He started to drag it across his skin, digging it in, but the water kept flowing. It picked up touches of blood, streaking them down and off him, into the drain at his feet. The process was almost hypnotic, the blood's movement fascinating and beautiful. When the blood stopped flowing, he set the shard back into his shower caddy -- not out of a sense of self-worth, so much as boredom.

When Will found his way back, nervously, to his dorm, the bedding and Brian were gone. "He went to get breakfast before class," Jimmy explained. He sat on his bed, looking down at his feet. "Sorry he was so mean. He doesn't mean it." It didn't sound like Jimmy meant it. "He uh, told me to tell you that you have to go see Mr. Crawford."

The boy walked to the headmaster's office, happy it was too early for most people to be up, but the staff was still present. He knocked sheepishly at the door labelled 'Jack Crawford', receiving a booming _come in_ as a response. He pushed the door aside, his tension lessened by seeing Doctor Lecter was also present.

"Good morning, Will," Hannibal said. Even though Will was in trouble, he gave the boy a wide smile.

The headmaster sighed. "Doctor Lecter has informed me you still can't talk. Is that right?" Will nodded his head. "Just nod or shake your head yes or no then, do you understand? I won't make you talk." Will nodded again. "Good. Now, about your roommates. Brian said you've been waking up in the middle of the night, and he can't get any sleep -- not to mention this morning's accident. We can't be having this go on for long. Do you understand?"

Will was starting to tear up, embarrassed and scared. He nodded.

"Jack--"

"Not now, Doctor Lecter." The headmaster turned to face the student. "We need you back in classes soon. Now, I know that you've been through a lot, and ideally we would get you in your own room right now, but we're full. Which means we need you to keep living with your roommates. Do you understand? Good. But that means that you're going to have to pull yourself together and get back to doing your schoolwork. Maybe it'll help get your mind off of things, get you distracted from the nightmares. We want to work with you to figure this out."

Unable to speak, Will down at his lap with tears in his eyes. He knew he couldn't do it. He started panicking, scared he would be sent back into foster care like the problem child he was. He always fucked it up, and he couldn't forgive himself. Will hugged himself tighter and began to quiver slightly.

"How can you expect Will to succeed if you don't give him the space he needs," Hannibal turned to ask Mr. Crawford.

"We don't _have_ the space, doctor. If we did, then I'd give it to Will. But we _don't,_ so we have to figure something out."

"I think it's unlikely that Will's state will improve in his current setting."

Jack sighed. "Then what do you suggest?"

Hannibal lowered his head slightly in thought, raising it again a few moments later. Will looked on as adults once again decided his fate. "Perhaps I could take care of Will while he recovers."

"I didn't see you as the type to clean up after children," Jack said, surprised.

"On the contrary: I love children," he reassured his colleague. "I have plenty of room, and no company to keep. Perhaps what good Will needs is more attentive therapy. I would provide him with the peace and quiet he needs to excel."

Mr. Crawford thought it through for a frighteningly long time. The boy's heart fluttered fearfully with hope; he looked up at Hannibal, who smiled back down at him. "It might be possible. Are you sure you'd be willing to, Hannibal," Jack asked.

"Yes I am."

"And how about you, Will?"

The boy nodded excitedly, beaming at the possibility. Even Jack felt some relief at the boy smiling again.

"I'll have to fill out some paperwork, but I think we could get this figured out," Mr. Crawford said. "Will, I want you to stay in your room at least another night or two while we get this to work. Do you think you can do that?" Will nodded.

Hannibal crouched down in front of Will, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'll get you out of here as soon as I can, okay Will?" Again, the boy nodded.

* * *

The next day, Will could hardly wait until his appointment with Hannibal. The session was quiet, with Will only saying a few words -- the first of them being to ask about Hannibal's promise. Doctor Lecter had filled out all of the necessary forms and files, spending the days on the phone to get his foot in the door and get the situation sorted as soon as possible. Since the school had custody over Will and could check him into hospitals and the like, they could technically count his stay with Hannibal as therapy -- Doctor Lecter had maintained a private practice several years back, and still possessed the permits to do so. His reputation also aided in speeding along the process with foster care. To anyone, he would appear simply as a good doctor and a good man, looking to help a disadvantaged child.

Will looked forward to it, telling the doctor as much. "I really like your house. I liked it there."

"Well thank you, Will; you make excellent company." He smiled at Will, who smiled back. "I'll be helping you with everything while you're living with me -- even homework," he added, with a wink. "The loudest my house gets is when I prepare dinner. Other than that, I'm sure you'll find it peaceful."

"I look forward to it." The boy smiled down at his lap then, as if sensing Hannibal's eyes on him, he turned up to face the man with his sapphire eyes, tears flecking his thick eyelashes. "You're really okay doing all that for me?"

"I would love nothing more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...or, Will's life changes for the better? (lmao this poor boy has no good choices tbh).


	24. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will adjusts to his new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some well-deserved fluff babyyyyy. Also, I've decided to make Hannibal's house NOT the house he has in the show, in favor of a more suburban home (though its still bougie as fuck,, u know hannibal.)

Will sat on the foot of the stairs outside his dorm, eagerly waiting for Hannibal to pick him up. He had just finished shoving his belongings into bags, hoping to get out before his roommates got back from classes. He passed by Jimmy as he left the building, awkwardly avoiding his eyes as he passed. He assumed that his roommates knew he was leaving, and he didn't care to say goodbye. Will had been waiting half an hour now for Hannibal to arrive -- but only because he left the dorm early. Doctor Lecter arrived just as the clock rolled over the hour, pulling up in the car Will had already begun to recognize. Hannibal stepped out, smiling at Will and extending his hand.

"Allow me," he said, gesturing to the boy's luggage. As Will took the offer, his delicate fingers brushing against Hannibal's as he handed them over. As the man continued to the back of the Bentley, he opened a door for Will, who immediately slid across the seat diagonal from the driver's and began basking in the car's heating.

Will had some interest in how car engines worked, but he was clueless as to what was considered a "good" car. Nonetheless, Doctor Lecter's seemed a cut above most, being impeccably clean and polished, with gorgeous interior wood panelling and cushy seats. It smelled like Hannibal, too. He let himself sink into his seat, until suddenly the trunk clicked closed, startling Will.

As Hannibal drove, Will drifted slowly into sleep. The winter sun was already setting, dragging long shadows across the scenery towards the horizon. He always got sleepy in the car, and these days, he was especially tired.

They arrived eventually, the sound of a garage-door motor jolting Will awake as Hannibal backed into the garage. He got out swooped around to Will's door, opening it for him and sweeping his arm out.

"Welcome home, Will." As the door slid closed, Hannibal began to unload the trunk. Carrying most of the luggage in one arm, he unlocked and opened the door to the house. "Please, allow me give you the tour," he said with a slight bow.

First, Hannibal took Will to his room. It was upstairs, separated from the master bedroom by the master bathroom. Hannibal set the luggage down gently at the foot of the bed. "Here's where you'll be staying," he said as he gestured around the room. "Feel free to make yourself at home. If you want the furniture rearranged, just let me know."

It was a simple room, with soothing dull red walls and dark and elegant furniture, carpeted in plush light-grey. ( _One-hundred percent wool,_ Hannibal told him. _If you ever spill something, let me know right away._ ) In the centre of the right wall was a bed, queen-sized, with a bed frame made carved from some soothing dark-brown wood, smooth and cool to the touch. The feet of the frame were carved into strong hooves from which spiralled beautiful and intricate carvings of nature, invoking roots and vines and leaves. The bed itself was tall and soft, neatly draped in posh blankets and headed by two large pillows. To the left of the bed was a night stand, atop which sat a lamp that would light on high as well as dimly. To the bed's right, against the front wall, was a beautiful wardrobe; it was styled similarly to the bed frame, its craftsmanship precise and practised.

Beside the wardrobe was a dresser as well, being from the same set. Young Will was no expert, but he could tell that every piece of furniture was produced to such a high standard it could be considered art. Atop the dresser was a hairbrush, a hand-mirror, and a candle. The candle was thin and tall, with an engraved dish below to catch its wax and a small loop to carry it by.

The opposite wall was far more bare, except for a shelf hung in the centre above a small desk, and windows to either side. The shelf was sparsely decorated, featuring only a few objects, each purposeful and artful -- Will's eyes caught on a statue of an elk, cold and dark, standing proudly on its shelf. The window on the right as well as the window on the right had a set of thin drapes as well as thick dark curtains that suffocated even the bright winter sun's light. Both sets were drawn, offering Will a view behind the house to the patches of trees in the back yard, all the way back to where the thicker forest halted at the metal-and-stone fence at the edge of the property.

To the left was a wide set of closet doors, opening into a fairly deep closet, containing only its wooden shelving, a closet rod bearing a few clothes hangers, and an empty hamper. Beside the closet was a stretch of wall, upon which was hanging a beautiful painting of a nature scene. The room was bigger and fancier than Will had ever had, and he sat in awe at it all for a moment. He was used to cycling through rooms rapidly, and no transition had ever felt so immediately welcoming. He sheepishly thanked Doctor Lecter.

"No need to thank me, Will. But for now, let us continue the tour; we can unpack your things later." He offered the boy a gentle smile before he ushered him back into the hallway. "Over here is the master bathroom," he said, gesturing at the nearby door.

Will peeked into the bathroom. It seemed more personal than the one he had been in on Halloween, downstairs; there was greenery in the corners, and deep blue walls, whose pigment seemed to bleed down the dark wooden trim and into the rest of the room. The vanity was the same wood as the trim, accented with polished gold handles and knobs, and the counter-top was a thick slab of marble; it held two sinks. To the right was a closet, the wall dropping back behind it and containing a toilet and a small trash can. The corner was walled off in thick semi-opaque glass that distorted anything behind it, apparently containing a standing shower. Taking up the other corner, partially recessed as well, was a large, luxurious bathtub.

"You're more than welcome to use either the shower or the tub whenever you'd like. This is your home too, Will." Hannibal gestured to his bedroom door, but took no steps to open it. "This is my bedroom. Should you need something in the night, never hesitate to knock."

Will nodded, and the tour continued. The other room on the second floor was a piano room, which housed a smaller (but fancy) piano as well as an elegant, apparently antique harpsichord.

"What's a harpsichord?" Will asked.

Hannibal smiled and explained, "A harpsichord is much like a piano, except instead of hammering the strings, it plucks them. The sound arrives like experience, sudden and entire; it is not possible to control the volume." He rested his hand on the harpsichord and looked down at the exposed strings, as if he was composing a piece in his mind without ever touching the keys. "Mine was made in the late eighteenth century, just before the instrument fell out of fashion in favour of the piano."

"Why does it have two rows of keys?" Will inquired.

"The second row allows for more depth of sound. It lends itself well to the music of the time, far better than the piano. One day I may even teach you how to play."

"I've never been able to play instruments," he said. "I've always found them interesting, though. All the interlocking pieces and how they interact." Will scoffed at himself. "Maybe that's why it's so intimidating to try to learn -- I was thinking about joining band or orchestra, but... I dunno, I don't think I'd be good."

Doctor Lecter left the harpsichord, gliding over to Will's side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No musician starts by performing Bach. There is art even in learning the inner workings of your instrument, in fumbling and struggling. The process of learning to channel your voice through the predetermined mechanical workings of an instrument is a difficult one, but one I find immensely satisfying." Hannibal took his hand off of Will and moved to another corner of the room, pulling out a strange device with poles and loops sticking out of it, half metal and half wood. "When I purchased that harpsichord, I got another instrument as well. It's an early electronic instrument called the _theremin_ ; this one in particular was made by Professor Theremin himself in the 1930s." He set it in front of a chair, its alien construction fascinating Will.

The boy stared at it, trying to piece together how it worked. There was a loop of metal to the left and an 'L' extending from its right, but there where no keys -- only a handful of knobs. "How do you play it," he asked.

"Allow me to show you." Hannibal pressed a button, bringing the machine to life. He positioned his hands near either antenna, and a whine came out from the machine. "This antenna controls the pitch. The closer your hand gets, the pitch raises." He brought his hand near the L-shaped antenna, smoothly bringing the pitch up before letting it fall again. "And this one here controls volume," he said while demonstrating. As his hand left the loop, the humming grew louder.

Will got closer to the instrument. As Hannibal continued continued to play a simple melody, the boy fell entranced. "How does it work?"

"The instrument conducts an electromagnetic field, which the musician simply manipulates with their hands. Would you like to try it?"

Will nodded, and Hannibal stood to offer his seat. The boy sat down in front of the theremin, grasping its volume antenna and holding his hand uneasily near the other. As he lifted his left hand, the tone got louder -- Will smiled as he waved his hand, summoning forth music.

Hannibal stood behind the chair, watching the boy's clumsy movements. "The theremin does not hold the same limitations as traditional instruments. There are no conventional notes or keys to contain you, nor strings to guide you. By gesture alone you invoke its voice." He leaned forward, gingerly clasping Will's wrists in his hands, steadying and guiding their movement.

"I sound like I'm killing it," Will mused.

"You are killing it," Hannibal replied. "Don't kill it. The theremin is an instrument that can create exquisite music without ever needing to be touched but, it requires the rare gift of perfect pitch to play properly." He moved his right hand further forward, cupping the back of Will's dainty hands and guiding them, correcting in part the boy's pitch. All the while, he basked in the child's scent, breathing it in deeply.

"Well, you seem to be pretty good at it."

Hannibal smiled. Will's hair now lacked the tangled scents of the woods that so graced it in autumn. But still, beneath the faded notes of cheap shampoo and conditioner, was the irresistible faint musk of early pubescence. "I'm experienced in playing between conventional notes."

Eventually, it came time to continue to tour. Hannibal led Will down the stairs, taking him down the hallway Will vaguely remembered the bathroom being in. There were a number of doors flanking them, each containing some new exciting part of Will's new exciting home.

The first door on the left opened to an extravagant office that extended upwards to the second floor, books filling the walls but for where paintings were hung. The upper row of shelves was accessible via a ladder to a railed balcony, the wrought iron that formed the railings sturdy and imposing. In the centre of the room was a large, simple desk resting atop an intricate rug. All that was atop was a lamp, a phone, a pencil, and a scalpel. On the exterior wall, facing the desk, were two monolithic windows.

"This is the library and office," Hannibal spoke. "Before I worked as a guidance counsellor, this is where I held my private practice. I was thinking you and I could spend our sessions in here, now."

The next room in the tour was the bathroom, which Hannibal only briefly reminded Will of, and behind it the laundry room. The only remaining rooms to tour were Hannibal's favorite.

The dining room was beautiful, connected to the living room via the fireplace, now lit, casting warm dancing shadows across the room. Against one wall were containers of fresh herbs, gently teasing Will's sense of smell. The wooden floor was sturdy and smooth, and Will had already begun sliding his socked feet across them when Hannibal wasn't looking.

The kitchen marked the end of the tour, being the heart of the house. The nature motifs of the rest of Hannibal's home fell away here, where the floor was tile and the appliances stainless steel, each counter wiped spotlessly clean.

"If you're ever hungry, feel free to raid the fridge," Hannibal said with a smile. "Food is in no short supply here. And of course let's not forget the pantry." The man swung open the pantry door, revealing a bounty of dried, jarred, and canned food. There were bottles of alcohol stacked against one wall, and altogether there was more food than Will had ever seen in a pantry -- his expression of shock was not lost on the doctor. "More than you're used to perhaps," he observed.

"I... yeah," he responded. "And I can just, take food from it whenever I want?"

"Of course; a growing boy needs his food."

Will was surprised. He had been in a few houses with pantries before, but none so large. The orphanage had had a fairly big one, but it remained locked at all hours -- it was the adults who chose when he got fed. In one of his foster homes, they had even kept the pantry locked. "Thank you," Will said shyly.

* * *

After the tour completed, Hannibal took Will back out into the kitchen to wait for dinner. He gave the boy a puzzle to do while he waited, leaving the door open so that Will could see the process. Hannibal had asked what he wanted for his first meal at his new home, and Will had decided on spaghetti.

So Hannibal toiled in the kitchen, refusing to use boxed noodles and making them from scratch. Will's attention was snatched away from the puzzle when he started using the pasta extruder, hypnotized by the way the dough spilled out in neat tubes.

Hannibal set the noodles aside, now taking his time to prepare the sauce's ingredients as the water boiled. He finely diced the onions and the garlic, then a wide array of various home-grown herbs. By the time he finished preparing his ingredients and neatly arranging them for use, the water had boiled and the pasta could be cooked. As they did so, Hannibal prepared the sauce, making use of a particular container of ground meat.

When the smell became too much to bear, Will hovered over the skillet like a hawk, eagerly waiting for a fresh plate of food to be served up. "Would you like a taste, Will," Hannibal asked the over-eager child, who nodded doggedly in response. He scooped a small portion of the sauce, bringing it to the child's lips and watching every movement as he swallowed; Hannibal smiled when Will immediately reacted, a smile growing across his face as he gave a hum of approval. "I'm glad you like it. Cooking is always more enjoyable when you do it with friends, don't you think?"

Will nodded, then lost himself in thought for a moment. "I'm your friend?" he asked. He hadn't really considered it before, but he did feel particularly close to Hannibal.

"Of course I consider you a friend. Don't you consider me a friend, Will?"

The boy grinned and shook his head, happy to have made another friend, then wordlessly he scampered back to his seat.

Before long, Hannibal came out to the table with two large plates of spaghetti, steam rising off of them, each with two slices of lightly-toasted bread on the side. He placed them at either side of the table, returning to the kitchen and entering once again, this time with a large glass of red wine in each had. Hannibal put everything in place and returned to his seat, taking a moment to close his eyes and internalize the night, breathing deeply the swirling aromas of his familiar home, Will Graham, Abigail Hobbs -- and of course, the wine.

Will was clearly hungry, but he waited for Hannibal to take the first bite. The man smiled at his politeness. As soon as the first bite was made though, Will ate every ounce of food on his plate, before long requesting another serving. As he ate, he also drank, the alcohol fuelling his appetite and blushing his face as red as the sauce. Hannibal was sure to keep his glass from going empty.

When dinner was over, Hannibal bussed the plates. He returned then to fetch Will, grabbing him gently by the arm to keep him steady. The boy was quite drunk, after all. The two journeyed to the living room, the younger immediately flopping onto the couch when it was in distance. Hannibal sat down next to him, near the corner of the couch, smiling to himself as he watched the boy squirm.

In his drunkenness, Will decided that he needed cuddles -- not deep pressure therapy, but something more intimate; something he hadn't had in a long time. He hoisted himself onto Hannibal's lap, the man pulling his arms away so that Will could find the position he found most comfortable. He moved from the couch to Hannibal's lap, broad and welcoming, and rested his head against the man's chest. The alcohol had taken his inhibitions, but Hannibal didn't mind. He held the child, petting his hair and running his hand along his back.

Will felt warm and safe, and he was soon drifting off into shallow dreams. After a couple hours simply holding the boy in his lap, feeling the rhythms of his breathing, Hannibal was content and the boy was fast-asleep. He hoisted him up, carrying him in his arms to what had been the guest bedroom and setting him on the posh bed. Will, though, hadn't changed into pajamas prior to dinner, prompting Hannibal to find a pair in the boy's luggage, coercing the boy though half-sleep into the proper clothes.

Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Hannibal did not wait to help Will into his pajama pants, but he knew that the child wouldn't be able to tell how intently he was staring at his slender legs, taking his time to absorb the sight and smell of his crotch.

He lifted Will, now-dressed, higher up onto the bed and underneath the covers. The only sound in the room was the slight crinkle of the cover he had put beneath the bedsheets in case the boy had another accident. Before he left, Hannibal's arms encircled the boy like great jaws, holding Will tight in a hug and gracing his soft forehead with a single light kiss.

Will Graham's dreams were sweet that night, as were Hannibal Lecter's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! I've been getting one like every day and honestly it means a lot to me -- as cheesy as that might be. Thanks, you lovely perverts you  
> Should I read the books btw? I kinda want to (but also kinda don't -- I mean, the show is so perfect, and I'm scared of reading something new without my boys being all gay tbh)


	25. Becoming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will spends his first day alone at Hannibal's house, and goes outside to play in the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everyone! I've been having a small break from things to work on a 5-chapter short story with a pal, and I'm not really gonna give an estimate on that but it's gonna be angsty and dark and sad. Writing like that is compelling and fun, but it also takes a little bit of a toll on my psyche, I guess. I also want to release it alongside some art, and maybe eventually as a comic, but I doubt it, knowing how much of a mess I am. But I'll def write/draw it -- I'll be posting the art on my twitter @HeartsickHand
> 
> I figure I'll be trying to get in a chapter or two of this fic before the new year, and hopefully I can do a new year's special as well. (I skipped thanksgiving cuz tbh i dont want it in my fic,,) maybe xmas will be in with the new year's one or something tho? Hannibal talks about god a lot and i feel like he'd give will a happy holiday. Will would probably enjoy an upper-class barrage Christmas gifts, and tbh he deserves it.  
> Enjoy this new chapter!! 25 chapters now! And so, so tantilizizingly close to 10k hits! Amazing!

After Will went to bed, quite early in the evening as it was, Hannibal took the opportunity to sort the boy's clothing. He did this silently, of course, careful not to make even the slightest sound, lest he disturbs his guest. Will's clothes were a mismatch of different sizes and materials, most of them cheap, and none of them flattering -- Hannibal figured the boy had collected the hand-me-downs from years in foster care, and having roughly ascertained the boy's measurements, he knew none of them quite properly fit, even his school uniform. He made a note to take Will shopping and to have a tailor attend to the unfortunate fit of the boy's uniform. When Hannibal had finished folding, hanging, and sorting Will's belongings, he looked over at the bed. Will lay there peacefully, his limbs and eyes twitching gently every once in a while to remind the world he was alive.

On any other night, Hannibal would have awakened the boy to get him to brush his teeth before bed, but even he couldn't bring himself to disturb the child. Tomorrow morning though, of course, he would make sure Will knew he had to maintain his hygiene and brush every night and morning. And so when Hannibal finished putting away Will's clothes, he simply gazed at him, in all his beauty and splendour. Doctor Lecter had contemplated fatherhood, on occasion, but he had to admit that the concept had never been so appealing before. Will had taken to him very quickly, after all, and early-on that bond became far deeper than that of merely a counsellor and a student. Part of the job description was passing on his wisdom, but when Will took Abigail's life, things changed. Will was a curious and well-intentioned boy, but some part of him, deep down, now cradled something dark and arcane that only Hannibal could reach. That only _Hannibal_ could nurture. He would not let that opportunity pass.

* * *

Will woke up -- well-rested, for the first time in recent memory -- to the gentle touch of Hannibal's hand on his shoulder. The boy's eyelashes fluttered open, his senses soothed into the waking realm by the soft voice of his counsellor _(or is it foster-father,_ now? he thought. _N-no, no, this is gonna be temporary like everything else._ )

"It's time to wake up, little one." He looked down at Will's cherubic face, soft morning light flowing across it and highlighting its beauty. When his bright-blue eyes met his, Hannibal stood up. "Breakfast is ready," he temped. "Best hurry before it gets cold."

Stretching his back and shaking himself slowly awake, Will made his way out from under the covers. He noticed right away that he couldn't remember having any nightmares. In fact, felt refreshed and energetic to a degree he had forgot was possible. The boy swung his feet over the edge of the bed, reaching his arms up and flexing his toes as he yawned. The sleepiness that had seemed to plague his muscles for so long shed off, for once. His body felt so relaxed that he decided to let himself fall right back down onto the bed, limbs thrown discordantly in every direction. Right away, Will knew it was because he hadn't heard a single noise as he fell asleep, and he must have fallen asleep early, too, now that he thought about it -- that never could have happened in the dorms. For a moment, he basked in the tranquility.

Hannibal extended his hand in front of Will, who accepted. Though he was sure he could've managed on his own, the child grasped his caretaker's hand, holding it tightly and bracing his arm, but not beginning to hoist himself up. Taking the hint, Hannibal pulled him up with ease, first slowly off the bed by about a foot, then used the better leverage to quickly bring him to his feet, where Will caught himself. He had a wide smile spread across his face, joyful and slightly mischievous. That smile spread then to Hannibal -- albeit a thinner, more restrained one.

Without parting hands, the two walked next-door to the bathroom. Hannibal, having brushed his teeth already before going about the morning's business, waited patiently for Will to finish brushing. The boy ran the brush furiously back and forth across his teeth, foam dripping from his lips, open as they were so that he could avoid the sensitive gap in his teeth.

Doctor Lecter, despite never practising dentistry, had a small passion for dental care. Perhaps because when he would on occasion procure a sounder for some upcoming feasts, seeing as they're quite unsuitable for cooking, the teeth must always be removed and disposed of. There were few things about butchery that off-put the doctor, but a bad mouth was always one of them.

Hannibal moved his right hand around Will, gently grabbing his arm while keeping its motion and beginning to slightly guide it. "More in a circular movement," he advised, "like this." The boy obeyed wordlessly, adjusting accordingly, though not completely. It would do for now, though, the doctor figured. Afterwards, Hannibal had Will floss, and after that, he handed the boy a hairbrush.

Will sighed at the sight of the brush. "Ugh, do I really have to brush my hair now," he wined. His outer lip, pink and slightly-glistening, stuck out in a pout.

"Yes, Will. It's important you're taken care of and well-groomed." Hannibal's stark face once again twisted into a smile: one that Will would interpret as kindness, but which had actually formed in wry response to his hidden pun.

The boy obeyed, running the luxurious brush Hannibal had bought him through his long tangled hair. The strands curved up at their end, unfettered by knots, sometimes forming little loops. Hannibal felt as if Will, standing before him now as he brushed his hair in the bright lights of the bathroom mirrors, resembled a cherub, beautiful and pure, basked in heaven's light.

When Will's new morning routine was finished, Hannibal led him downstairs. The two sat across from each other at the end of the table, each placed before them a steaming bowl of eggs and meat.

"I'm very careful about what I put in my body. Now that you're under my care, I'm particular about what is out in yours."

Will started pecking food out from his bowl now, starting with a sizable piece of egg. Hannibal's eyes were glued to the boy's fork, waiting to witness his reaction to the sausage. "Thank you; it's delicious," Will said, now starting to eat faster. "I don't normally eat breakfast." He picked up a piece of sausage, and Hannibal watched with pleasure the way his eyes closed to savour it. 

"You're certainly welcome," Hannibal responded. "From now on, we'll be eating breakfast together every morning -- a growing boy needs his food." He paused to take another bite, admiring his handiwork. "I can teach you how to cook it as well. It's a simple recipe. Simply some eggs and vegetables, and of course the meat. Perhaps one day I'll even teach you how to make your own sausage," he offered. Hannibal had used a lot of his latest butcher (or rather, Will's), but there was more than enough left should the boy take an interest in sausage-making. Hannibal's slight smile appeared again, as it seemed to do so frequently as of late.

"I'd like that, I think. The uh, cooking. I dunno if I can handle making sausage."

"I suppose we'll see, won't we." Hannibal, finished now with his food, got up to bus his dishes. "But I must be going soon. I've left lunch for you in the fridge. I hope last night's leftovers will suffice. If not, feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge or pantry. I'll be back around five pm. Is there anything else you need?"

Will shook his head, indicating there was nothing. He felt plenty cared for, moreso than in a long time.

Hannibal smiled and nodded, continuing what was left of his morning routine as the boy finished his meal. The puzzle he had been working on last night was still on the table, occupying his time while he waited for Hannibal to bid him farewell and leave. It didn't take long, though, the doctor already having prepared his things and gotten dressed before he awoke good Will.

Before he left, Hannibal gave his foster-child a pat on the head. "If you need me during the day, don't hesitate to text or call me," he assured Will. "The gates will be closed and locked behind me as well, so feel free to spend your time in the yard. Any questions?"

In response, the sheepish child simply shook his head, curls bouncing. So Doctor Lecter picked his briefcase and turned around to unlock the door, taking only his first step before a set of small arms wrapped around him from behind, prompting Hannibal an even wider grin than normal.

"Bye," said sheepishly the boy. The hug was as tight as he could make it, and Hannibal responded in kind by holding onto Will's clasped hands, unable at this angle to fully reciprocate.

"I'll see you later, Will." The child released his desperate hug, shrinking back out of the doorway and waving gently goodbye. On the ride to work, Hannibal nursed his erection.

Will felt lonelier without company in the house, but in the profound silence that now confronted him, he felt at peace. There were no sounds of other students, of course, nor even any vehicles or even footsteps. It was just him and the sounds of the house, which themselves were near-silent. The soft sound of the heating would gust forth from the vents on occasion, and the house would creak or crack only slightly in adjusting to the heat. As Will walked through the house in his socks, he found even the floorboards reluctant to give up their secrets, not a single board loose to make a sound. The house was as pristine and secretive as Hannibal Lecter himself.

The bedroom was lit brightly by the winter sun, filtering through the thin curtains and basking the room in a slightly-colored glow. Will drew the heavy curtains and laid down on the bed, noticing the slight crinkle now. _Did Hannibal..._ He grew red in the face, embarrassed but understanding that his caretaker would consider him wetting the bed again a possibility. Nonetheless, the bored child shifted under his covers, trying to find a comfortable position to nap in but finding no such thing. His routine as of late had consisted as much, and having nothing else he wanted to do, he would eventually drift off into an uneasy sleep. But now, that sleep did not find him.

So, realizing that perhaps it was time for a change of routine, Will got back up again, tearing open the curtains and squinting out at the backyard, the thick layer of snow reflecting the bright sun harshly at him. Without anyone else around, he could do more than he was used to, rather than simply dissociating through the day. (He was reluctant to admit it, but school did at least fill some time.

Downstairs, Will donned his shoddy winter clothes and headed outside. He explored around the property, dragging his feet through the four-or-so inches of snow and leaving a wide wavering ring (and a half) around the house. Eventually he settled on a place to play, choosing a fairly small cluster of trees in a far corner of the back yard as his destination. The trees there were huddled fairly close together, and their bare branches meant that there was still plenty of snow between them. The treeline in particular struck his interest, being relatively smooth and dense, sparking the child's imagination immediately.

The snow was heavy and sticky, the perfect consistency for building. Will used his hands to shovel snow from behind the treeline, piling it up as walls between the tree, reinforcing this fortified treeline with fallen branches he had found as he dug down to the grass. After not too long, the child had engineered a wall all the way around the cluster, save for between two rather-close trees, where he planned to put an elegant entrance to his fortress.

As well as that Will planned to use a few of the inner trees as an inner fort, but by then most of the snow inside had been used for the outer walls. So, needing more snow and sticks, the boy trekked across the massive yard to another cluster of bare trees. He didn't have any means to shovel snow or transport it in large quantities, so the clever child came up with another way: as if making a snowman, he started by rolling a snowball across the ground until it eventually became swollen with enough snow for a wall. He took the snowball and pushed it back to his keep, following his earlier footsteps to make it easier. Before long, the boy had imported enough snow to construct his inner keep, morphing the already-packed spheres into yet-taller walls, high enough that the boy could crouch behind them with ease. He reinforced them with the larger branches he found in other tree clusters as he had gathered the snow. The roof was then built, using long sticks as the main support, filling out the rest with some wide fans from some evergreens to fill it out.

Will stepped back to admire his handiwork. Inside the shade of his man-made cave, he felt secure, and outer walls had stacked behind them a barrage of snowballs at the ready, in case anyone dared attack. The tree in the "courtyard" of his fort was really easy to climb as well, allowing him to get a lovely bird's-eye view of the property. Outside of the enterance stood guard two simple snowmen, with sticks for arms and rocks for their generally lacking features. He hoped he could invite over some friends to show it off to. It had been a while since he had a good snowball fight, and he thought it was a pretty cool fort. That train of thought, however, was soon interrupted by his rumbling stomach.

He went back inside, tired from his day of hard play, and stripped out of his winter gear. Most of it was soaked through wherever there were holes, caked with snow and flooded by freezing water. In particular, his tortured snow pants. He hung them up in the closet and walked into the kitchen. The hour was later than he expected -- still a few hours off from when Hannibal returned, but definitely past lunchtime. Apparently the fort had taken longer than he thought.

The microwave didn't quite do justice to Hannibal's cooking, but the leftover pasta was still delicious. Will slurped it down as he worked on the remainder of his puzzle, hoping it would occupy time until Hannibal returned.

* * *

Doctor Lecter returned to his home, noticing with a smile the tracks in the snow. He had hoped Will would feel comfortable enough to get outside, considering how long he had been stuck in his room in bed the last several days. He grabbed his briefcase as he stepped out, filled with what little paperwork he had to do at home as well as Will's homework and tests -- he had gotten permission to conduct the tests, rather than having Will go back to the school for testing. This way, Will would be able to spend the rest of the semester away from school, while still being able to pass.

The door leading from the garage to the living room opened, and Will was waiting expectantly on the couch. As a greeting, the boy perked up and waved slightly, smiling.

"Did you have a good day, Will?"

Will hopped up from the couch, beaming and bursting to tell his story. He relayed to Hannibal how he made the fort, and humble as he was about it, the doctor could tell the boy was proud of himself.

"I'm very glad you enjoyed yourself. Perhaps sometime we could put it to use." He smiled back at the boy before turning away to put his coat in the closet. As he did so, he noticed the sopping outerwear, littered with holes. "And it appears you put your snow pants quite to use as well. I'll make it a note buy you some new ones," he said.

Hannibal began preparing dinner for the two of them (a vegetarian one, it happened -- minestrone), the boy doing his homework meanwhile on the kitchen table. He had a lot to catch up on, but with sufficient encouragement, Will was managing quite well. Hannibal was happy to see as much, though he worried that the child was holding back or suppressing what had transpired to make him so despondent. As he cooked, Doctor Lecter thought of what he might say to the boy to breach the subject. He settled though, on letting Will have some time to process things on his own terms, so he would at least be more receptive to talking about it. After all, they did have the entirety of winter break for that. In only a week, work would no longer get in the way of him spending more time with his boy.

As dinner simmered in its pot, Hannibal helped Will with his homework, directing the study and answering any questions the boy had. Before long, though, food was being ladled into bowls and served alongside wine. The boy ate it gratefully, his appetite apparently stoked by all his activity throughout the day, for the remainder of which he was largely nonverbal and tired.

The two sat next to each other on the couch, Hannibal reading idly as he Will leaned against him, slowly working through a puzzle booklet. Doctor Lecter was glad to see that the boy seemed largely uninterested in television or any of the other multitude of annoying hobbies. Will was peaceful and caring, even moreso outside of school, and Hannibal Lecter cherished every moment with him.

That night, after being tucked in, Will spoke. His voice was high-pitched and a touch monotone, and it had to it an aspect of bright-eyed innocence tucked away in it. "My, uh, mom used to.... Before bed, she'd kiss me goodnight on the forehead," he said matter-of-factly.

Understanding that was Will's way of asking for that childhood comfort, Hannibal smiled. "Would you like me to kiss you goodnight," he asked knowing the answer.

Will shrugged in response, looking away from his caretaker's eyes as if he might be angry at the suggestion. Hannibal, though, bent over the bed, prompting the boy to look back up. The thin smile his counsellor wore across his face comforted him, and he smiled back.

The man obliged, placing a chaste kiss squarely in the centre of the child's forehead. "Goodnight, Will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I don't get the next chapter out before 2021, then y'all have a good newyear,, and dont you fuckin dare violate quarantine i stg
> 
> Happy holidays


	26. A New Year (Holiday Special)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We jump forward to see Will and Hannibal share the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, 10k hits! (Ive taken so long its now almost 11k lmao,) At least I had something positive happen this year. Thank you all for reading, and who knows, maybe this thing will be done before the new year is through. Honestly though, I have no clue. But stick with me ; ^)  
> First chapter of the year! And fashionably late 😎 I haven't had any privacy to write since the holidays. Sorry! Also been working on that short story. Christ time just gets away from me im sorry ;-; Hopefully, the fact that it's especially horny will make up for that....

Will Graham laid in bed, bundled in blankets and donning a new pair of pajamas: luxury ones that Hannibal bought him, and gifted him earlier that night as an early Christmas gift. The boy had finished, with some encouragement, all of his tardy homework tests in time for grading. Hannibal was proud of him, and so he had made it a point to spoil the child a touch -- not that he suspected Will could be spoiled; the boy was far too polite and grateful for that to feasibly happen. Besides, the boy hadn't much to begin with. So Hannibal, hoisting over his shoulder a sack of wrapped presents tagged from Santa that had been hidden in his closet for the last several days, crept down from his bedroom to the living room. In case Will was particularly curious and peeked, he had on a fine red Santa hat and a rather goofy fake beard, along with a red sweater, so that perhaps the illusion would not break.

The area around the Christmas tree was lit with a smattering of vibrant lights, casting their mixed colours haphazardly across the walls and dimly illuminating the scene. Hannibal placed the presents neatly, one-by-one, beside the ones already there under his own name. The wrapping style was different between the two groups as well, using different bows, papers, and tags. Each spool of wrapping paper had an understated and elegant design, accented with large bright bows. The handwriting from "Santa" was different as well, being so lovingly written that it became calligraphy. Presents were addressed mostly to Will, though Hannibal did indulge himself under his alias.

He had taken the boy shopping not too long ago, seeing as he was in desperate need of casual clothes and a better winter coat, but Hannibal nonetheless felt the need to reinforce his wardrobe. He chose soft, well-made underwear, socks, and shirts, with a minimal amount of tags to irritate Will's sensitive skin. Flannels made up a considerable portion of the gifted clothes, seeing how much Will seemed to like wearing them, and Hannibal was sure the fabric was authentic wool or cotton rather than today's horrible synthetic fibre. The child hadn't asked for much in the way of toys, either. He mainly expressed interest in small puzzles and more simple things, but Hannibal could tell in the way he spoke that Will was used to not getting much, and certainly nothing expensive. But when they passed through the toy isle at the store, Will's eyes still hung on certain toys. Paying close attention to where they darted, Hannibal figured what he might have wanted, purchasing nearly everything the boy had seemed interested in. Money, after all, was hardly a concern for Hannibal.

The only remaining contents of the sack now were the two heavy stockings, which the doctor placed gently over the fireplace. Content with his work, he sat down for a moment to eat the cookies waiting for him. He and Will had baked them the day before in anticipation of Santa, and despite his lack of interest in sweets, Hannibal understood the point of the ritual and likewise stuffed his face, washing it down with the lukewarm milk and leaving but a few crumbs on the plate. He set out a note in Santa's handwriting complimenting Will on his baking, adjusted a few ornaments on the tree, then headed back upstairs to sleep away the remainder of the night. Hannibal thought about how excited Will would be in the morning and grinned slyly to himself; there was something irresistible, addictive, about that child's smile.

Just as the sun eked out its light from the horizon, Will woke up. He was never much of a morning person, but on Christmas day, things were different. He sprung out of bed, his back cracking slightly as it adjusted to moving so suddenly. Pleasant pulses of warm blood rushed through his veins, bringing with them a kind of alertness; it was as if Will had skipped the entire process of waking up. He bolted down the stairs, skipping several at a time and practically flying down the staircase, landed hard, then immediately bolted over to the tree. He had been impressed by the number Hannibal had already put out for him, but Santa brought so many more!

The boy had an urgent need to open the multitude of presents, and thus he rushed back upstairs. A gentle pattern of footsteps made their way to Hannibal's door, frenzied knocks soon following. "It's Christmas!" Will hollered through the door excitedly. "Wake up!"

Moments later, a response came. "Come in," it said.

Will obeyed, opening the door to Hannibal's room and approaching the large bed in the centre. His counsellor laid propped against the cushioned headboard, stretching himself as he awakened. It stood out to Will, the intimacy on display. Odd as it was, the boy had never really seen Hannibal in less than a nice sweater, usually in a suit, perhaps in fine pajamas, but certainly never shirtless -- never so revealed. Doctor Lecter had always been awake and dressed before Will woke up, and was always up later after the child's bedtime. He seemed almost constant in that way, donned in his suit and handled with such grace. But now the person suit hung in the closet, and Hannibal seemed undone to some degree, greyish-blond strands of hair tousled loose from sleep that were messily pushed back by a fussy hand, only to fall again. Morning light shined dimly through the curtains, gently scattering light across the man's athletic body, bringing out the beauty in his gentle muscles. As Will clambered onto bed beside him, something in the child fluttered and stirred -- but of course, his joy overpowered even that. "Santa came," he informed Hannibal, grabbing his arm to gently shake the man awake.

Hannibal had never seen the boy quite so intrusive or excited, and it brought a smile to his face to see it. "You don't say," he replied to Will with feigned shock. "You must have been a good boy this year."

The over-excited child beamed at Hannibal, then started tugging him out from beneath the blankets. Having barely managed to throw on pajamas, and a pair of slippers before he was taken from his room, Hannibal was escorted downstairs to open presents. He put some water on to boil to make for himself some peppermint tea, and for Will a hot cocoa, before returning to the living room and pulling down the stockings.

He placed the appropriately-named socks onto their appropriate laps, shortly after being torn into by the addressees -- the boy, rather rabidly. _His_ was stuffed with candy (taffy mostly, as well as some sour candies Hannibal knew or suspected Will liked), some small puzzles and fidgets, and a few more pairs of socks, these being thicker ones made for winter. Santa had sent Hannibal some socks as well, along with some luxurious perfume. Back in the kitchen, the rolling boil of the water signified that Hannibal was to prepare the drinks. He came back with a cup of tea steeping in one hand, and a mug of steaming hot chocolate in the other, topped with whipped cream.

Since the gifts had been grouped under the tree by recipient, they were doled out easily. Will tore into his, flaying the gifts of their carefully-folded skins. Hannibal, who had put considerable time and effort into the presentation of the presents, didn't actually mind; sometimes the most fun can be found in senseless destruction. He, however, carefully unfolded each, placing the used wrapping paper in a neat pile to be cleaned later. He found, to feigned surprise, that Santa had gifted him a multitude of wares for the kitchen, bolstering his already-impressive collection. Will, naturally, took little interest in what his caretaker had gotten, being too shocked by the sheer volume he had received. He was used to getting clothes here and there, but they had always been cheap excuses for gifts, plastered with weird images or words or other things he was meant to relate to as a young boy, but they were always awkward against his skin, and holes were quick to form in them. These, however, were _luxurious_ \-- Will didn't even know clothes could feel so comfortable! Most of them were tagless too, he noticed as he took them out. In his experience clothes came covered in obtrusive stickers and difficult-to-remove tags, but they either came tagless or had been processed by Hannibal. Even the horrible plastic tags sewn in were gone!

As for toys, Will had never seen so many! Well, except for one foster family whose children (he never accepted the term 'sibling', and neither had they) had always kept _their toys_ out of reach, giving Will only the barest of scraps: cheap hunks of plastic that no child would want, and broken or bored things. The toys Will had always wanted, tantalizingly out-of-reach, was LEGO -- the smile that beamed across his face as he shook the decadently-skinned boxes and suspected what they hid pierced Hannibal's heart, and the even wider smile and broke out when Will found he was right melted it. The child leapt up to his feet and dove against Hannibal's chest, who luckily was not holding anything, and wrapped his arms around his torso (or as far around as he could manage), with such gleeful strength that the man was shocked for a moment, left reeling in the impact before he burst into laughter.

"I take it you enjoy your gifts?"

Unable to speak with his cheeks stretched so, fits of giggles bubbling out, Will shook his head violently in the affirmative, rubbing his hair against Hannibal's sweatered chest and leaving it standing in static chaotic curls.

"Well, I think you have Santa to thank for most of those now, don't we? Which could only mean you were _especially_ nice this year," he reasoned. He hugged his boy back, tightly, before releasing him and patting him on the back. "Go on now; open the rest."

Will did as he was told and giggled with each present, stacking them all together neatly and admiring how the tower was taller than him when he sat. The only presents that remained were from Hannibal, but they were special: rather than regular boxes, they were strange shapes, almost certainly sleds, wrapped impeccably despite the curves and topped off with fantastically-large bows. Will tore into them, and his suspicions were easily confirmed. One sled was long and deep, with room for two people with a thick, smooth plastic bottom and two sturdy sets of handles; the other was an extremely-smooth disc, also with handles. Packaged in the middle of the former was a set of goggles and a helmet.

Hannibal crouched down beside Will. "I thought we could find a nearby hill one of these days and go sledding together. Or, if you prefer, you may do so yourself -- though I expect you to text every once in a while so I know you're okay." He rustled the boy's soft hair, the static jabbing at his hand as he smoothed it back down, making him smell like electricity. Below that, though, and as the static discharged, there was the gentle scent of the fabric softener Hannibal used, complimenting the shampoo and conditioner, as well as body wash, that he had Will using. That gentle boquet of scents only made Will's head smell that much more angelic, soft and sweet, with that beautiful prepubescent musk -- no more of the cheap chemicals that had haunted him before. His boy was perfect.

Before long the presents' remains were gathered up and disposed of, and the day went on. Will played with his new toys as he laid on the livingroom floor, enjoying the smells that wafted out from the kitchen as Hannibal cooked breakfast. They enjoyed their day in the living room together, each involved in his own activity but nonetheless enjoying the company of the other. After lunch they went sledding on a hill nearby, and when they came home Hannibal made grilled cheese at the child's request before he made a late dinner. Will was in bed by 8:30, completely exhausted, convinced there had never been a happier Christmas in the whole world. It would be the happiest Christmas Will ever had.

* * *

New Year's Eve was, to Will, always a holiday where his foster family, had he one at the time, would invite over swarms of people to start the new year with a bang. Riotous laughter would surge up from the living room, obscured by walls, blankets, and pillows if he was unlucky, or right next to his ear if he was forced to "socialize". It was a relief, then, when Hannibal told Will there would be no guests over to celebrate. It would be just the two of them.

Will was normally put to bed by 10pm, so the prospect of staying up past midnight with Hannibal excited him. There had also been mention of champagne -- whatever that was; Will never quite understood what adults meant when they talked about different forms of alcohol. He figured, though, that Hannibal would make a good choice: they had many types of wine together, and Will had enjoyed most in the context of the meal, but some were too bitter, or not sweet enough for him. Over time, the doctor had gotten a sense of his taste.

In anticipation of a late night, Will conserved his energy. He spent most of the day in his room still clad in nought but the long johns and oversized shirt he wore to bed, playing with the scattered toys he got for Christmas. (Of course, Hannibal made sure the toys were all cleaned up before bedtime, so Will didn't let things get _too_ messy.) By the time lunch came and went, however, he was restless.

He bounded down the stairs, thin legs propelling him over multiple steps at a time and landing him with a _thud_ at the base of the stairs. He looked in the kitchen and living room for Hannibal, but didn't see him, so he went and knocked on the door of his study.

"Come in."

Will obeyed, tip-toeing up to the wide desk where Doctor Lecter was currently seated, pencil moving quickly and precisely against it, rendering a beautiful sketch of some building. "Can we go sledding," he asked, " _pleease_?"

Hannibal smiled and set down his pencil. "Of course. Same hill as last time?"

"Yeah!" It was the third or fourth time now they had gone sledding together since Christmas. Will had gone on his own most days, too, but he enjoyed it more with Hannibal.

"Let's get ready then, shall we?"

The snow was thick and wet, clinging firmly to the ground and packing easily -- perfect for sledding. Will began, eagerly climbing up with his sled and zipping down the hill several times before Hannibal reached the top at his leisurely pace. The man was mostly comfortable simply watching from the top, soaking in the beauty of his natural surroundings (and the child before him). Every once in a while, though, Will would ask to go down in the big sled, and Hannibal would oblige.

He held the sled while the boy climbed into the front, then would start the sled down the hill before leaping in behind him, straddling his legs around Will and holding him. They would reach the bottom with windswept hair and wider-than-usual grins, Will laughing and Hannibal tousling his hair. He had once seemed so serious to Will, but that façade seemed to be melting away around him, somewhat.

Hannibal obliged the boy and went down several more times, taking more enjoyment than he'd dare indicate from having Will straddled between his legs. The boy would squirm and jump as they went down, grinding slightly against the man's crotch, before he inevitably leapt from the sled and begged for another round. By the time the sun was setting the two were going tired, though, and the begging stopped.

The two walked home together, having to open their coats to release all the excess heat they had worked up. They shook the snow from the sleds and placed them back in the garage to dry. Will's outerwear got a similar treatment, being thoroughly shook of snow before he was allowed in. The boy stripped out of his soaked-heavy clothes, leaving him again in nothing but a tee shirt and long johns, slightly wet from the outdoors. The buttons on the crotch had been undone by all the movement, open just a tantalizing sliver so that Hannibal could vaguely make out what lay within.

Will returned to his room and his toys then while Doctor Lecter prepared dinner. Food and fun rushed the day along in a blur, until suddenly the new year was upon them. Hannibal turned the TV on to a broadcast counting down to midnight, and brought him and Will a bottle of sweet champagne. Filled glasses clinked together in a toast.

Those glasses went down quick though, so with another half hour still to go, refills followed. It took a few more refills to reach almost midnight, and by then the two were flushed pink -- even Hannibal was a touch giggly. A warm smile graced his face as he looked at Will in that final minute. He wore a soft, thick blue sweater and his hair was no longer brushed back; the bright flicker of the fire illuminated his face and figure, his moistened lips gleaming like gold.

Will's heart stirred slightly, just beholding Hannibal in the moment. The year had been good, then bad... then worse, and worse again -- but then it got good again. Life here had been unlike anything before; he was accommodated for, respected, and well cared for, and.... Suddenly, his face felt especially close to Hannibal's. He stared up at him, meeting his eyes without flinching. He was acutely aware of the timer steadily ticking down.

Fireworks exploded on screen, and Hannibal raised his glass. "To the new year, and all that it may bring."

"Thank you, Hannibal," Will said, slurring slightly, as he lifted his cup to meet his caretaker's.

"You're more than welcome." With his free hand, Hannibal patted the boy on the head, letting his hand fall along the side of his face, stroking the silky curls. Will's hair had grown so much softer with the hair products he bought for him. "I normally spend my New Years attending parties, or otherwise alone. I can say that having just you for company is a welcome change." He raised the glass in another half-toast before raising it to his lips.

Will smiled. "I like it too," he said. But something weighed on his mind, and the alcohol brought it to the surface, making it harder to ignore. Tears began to bead in the corners of his stormy-blue eyes, and Hannibal's welcoming stare encouraged him to speak his mind. "I don't want to go back to school," he said, voice tapering off into a whimper. "I know I'm better now but I don't want to live at school again!"

Hannibal hushed Will and draped his hand over the boy's shoulder. "You won't have to, then. I'll do everything in my power to keep you here, if that's what you want."

He hadn't expected the doctor to accept so readily, and that just made Will break down in tears in an instant. He dove into Hannibal's chest and stayed there, drunk and happy-crying, for an uncertain number of heavenly minutes.

Soon, the boy was nodding off to sleep in his therapist's arms. Hannibal finished his drink and set it aside, stretching from his position to the table despite his restraints. Will stirred slightly, and Hannibal took the opportunity to nudge him awake.

"It's time for bed, Will."

The drowsy child nodded and began to slowly stand up, wobbling on his ankles as he did so; he pawed at Hannibal to stabilize himself. Drunken Will was then swept up! He found himself firmly between the doctor's thick arms, carried up the stairs.

Hannibal smiled down at him. "Let me help you," he said lightheartedly. When they reached the top of the stairs he steered towards the bathroom, where he attempted to place the boy on the ground.

Will struggled to stand though, his woolen feet struggling to find the friction. He tried to grab his brush and prop himself against the wall, but it proved too difficult. So Hannibal invited him to sit on top of the toilet lid.

He returned with a washcloth and Will's toothbrush, handing the latter over. When the boy proved too sloppy to even brush his teeth, the man stepped in again. "Allow me," he offered, grasping Will's hand in his and guiding the movement.

Hannibal guided the brush in neat circles, proving Will's involvement unnecessary. The boy's hand slipped out from beneath Lecter's, his arm now lazily dangling to the side. Will was blushed and looking away, probably a little bit embarrassed, but not protesting. Once the outside of the teeth were cleaned, he knew to open his mouth wide.

The brush circled around the molars, taking extra care around the one Will had lost and deeply cleaning the pearly baby teeth. His new tooth was poking out of the pink gums, and it was incredibly sensitive. To keep himself more stable, Hannibal cupped the boy's soft round jaw. His thumb held Will's lips open so he could see all the way back (and perhaps for some ulterior motive). As foam swirled in the small mouth and occasionally dripped out, Hannibal would wipe it off gingerly with the washcloth.

The inner surfaces of the teeth were last, and apparently most-neglected by the child. Hannibal tutted and went to work, pushing Will's pink tongue to the side with the brush necessarily; he appreciated the feedback he felt from the handle as he pressed against it. When the teeth were clean and their mouth was nearly overflowing with toothpaste foam, Hannibal lifted Will to the sink to spit. A long viscous stretch of white extended from his mouth, snapping as it ran thin and splashing back up against his lips, leaving them with pale pearls to glint in the artificial light.

When Will had finished rinsing his mouth, Hannibal's hands came at him again, this time with a long string of floss threaded around his fingers. Reluctantly, Will sat down and opened again -- he knew Hannibal was too strict to let him slide on that anyways. Hannibal's thumbs and forefingers rested at the boy's mouth's plump opening, smearing the bottom lip every which way as the floss ran between his front teeth. Then came time for the back teeth, and Hannibal's hands slid, surprisingly uninvasively, into Will's mouth. He scraped between every tooth effeciently and clinically, but it was nothing like any dentist's visit he had experienced before. The lack of a glove, for Hannibal and for Will, made the act more intimate -- though neither would comment on it. The boy felt the soft but weathered fingers of his caretaker sliding against the inside of his cheeks, grazing his tongue; the man felt moist nubile flesh sliding against him, so soft and tantalizing he could hardly bare it. The inside of the mouth feels in many ways, because it is, the inside of a person; but Hannibal tended to use gloves when dealing with still-warm bodies. Now, with young Will Graham, it was raw flesh against raw flesh. His face was close to the child's, offering him a fine view inside to do his work -- to view the glistening crimson of Will's insides. He nursed an erection, throbbing and barely-contained, between his crouched legs; he was painfully aware of it.

Then he finished, promptly standing and helping his boy to his feet. He disposed of the floss and washed his hands, drying them partially in patting Will on the head. He carried and tucked the child into bed, where he rapidly drifted into sleep. Hannibal had given him more alcohol than usual. He brushed his own teeth, then attended to the night's business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed your respective holiday(s)! I know I... kinda did. And a happy new year! Also, LEGO is the first and hopefully only brand I will include, and only cos it's really timeless. And I shall never give an answer as to what year this takes place because I do not know.  
> I think soon the fluff will stop,, im not as good at keeping fluff well-written i think lol. time for drama and sad


	27. An Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is has a nightmare again, and runs to Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your fluff to bring you: a lil' bit of grooming! Just little a.... It's a bit shorter, but uh, next chapter plot will be happening again! Rejoice!

Will was surrounded by darkness. Besides him, in front of him, above and below, was nothing but nothingness. The only thing that _was_ , was the snow falling gently around him: thin, frail, illusory snow that melted as soon as it touched the ground, lit by itself but providing no light to the surroundings. The child's head darted to his sides, scanning the shadows for the threats he knew were waiting there.

He spun around in the inky miasma, his eyes adjusting slowly. An image could be made out now. To one side, contrasted against the darkness, were shapes blacker than black -- even more oppressive than the miasma. Towering trunks of trees, their twisted and bare arms clawing up towards the sky, or perhaps towards Will. He was frozen in terror now as the unfamiliar silhouette ruptured in the centre, a twisted path forming for Will and inviting him to walk it. The gaping wooden maw beckoned to him; told him he belonged there.

Down that trail, Will knew, in the way you can understand the logic of a dream while still not accepting yourself to be in one, that Abigail was waiting, rotting, bleeding and broken against a log. His feet stuck to the ground, paralyzed in fear. He didn't want to go, to acknowledge what he did; he wanted to push it deep down where it would never come back. At the same time though, he felt he owed it to her to come clean, to face some consequences, or at least do something.

But he stood there, petrified and rotting. The snow was falling thickly now, in sheets of pale flakes that nonetheless disappeared as soon as they hit the ground. The ground grew muddy around Will and his feet began to sink, disappearing into the tar beneath him, sucking him down and keeping him there. _Maybe the woods would offer some shelter,_ he thought, though he knew he was neither mentally nor physically capable of entering it now.

He was stuck. The ground no longer took on the water, and so bone-chilling tides rose around him, rushing around his ankles and flooding into his shoes. It rose and rose, until Will had to crane his neck up to breath, water dancing around his mouth and threatening to pour in. He could no longer look ahead; only up, at the starless clouded sky above him. Another millimetre of snow, and only his nose could stay above.

Will had heard a few times that drowning was a relatively pleasant way to die. Once water filled your lungs, apparently, you just kind of... drifted off. He thought about it a lot. But then the tide poured into Will, invading his nose, then his mouth; his ears and his throat, his lungs and his stomach. His expectations were proved wrong, however. The frigid fluid filled him, stinging at his insides like daggers, weighing him down as he began to shake and struggle, attempting in vain to flee the mud at his feet; to swim up towards the surface; to do anything but drown. Will saw the snow continuing to fall above him, each flake hitting the black water and rippling out in red like droplets of blood. In front of him at the mouth of the path, obscured by dark swirling currents, floated Abigail's slowly-decaying corpse, frost clinging desperately to her skin and clothes, blood frozen into shards. Through waterlogged lungs Will tried to scream, tried his hardest to call for help, to call for Hannibal, but no sound came. No sound came and his fate was clarified, and he struggled even harder in vain until--

He shot up from bed, gagging on water he still perceived to be in his throat. He breathed in and out, then slumped forward, resting his forehead on the bed. Will could feel the blood pulsing through his veins, his heart rate thumping like a rolling drum. The clock on the shelf glowed gently, displaying 4:52 in a dim red. By the time his breathing and heart steadied, the clock read 5:15 and Will had convinced himself he was no longer dreaming.

* * *

Hannibal and Will sat in the office, in opposite chairs each flanked by a small table, one holding water and tissues. "What made you decide to continue therapy so abruptly," the doctor broke the silence to ask. Will had come to him that morning, more withdrawn than usual, and asked to continue the therapy sessions. The boy had been doing so well lately that Hannibal had been letting him simply live in the moment until then, but the inevitable came to pass, and that fragile peace was ruptured at last.

"Last night-- or, this morning, I guess, I had a nightmare again." Will took a shaky breath, "I liked not having them for a bit...."

"And what was this dream about?"

The boy rubbed his tired eyes and tried to conjure the images. "I don't really remember," he admitted, "I just remember being scared again... scared and powerless...." The vague sensations and impressions returned to him even as words and images illuded him, affecting him nonetheless. He remembered it was about Abigail, but he couldn't bear to form her name and spit it out. He looked up at Hannibal, but the man offered no words, just patience. "...I, don't know what to talk about."

Doctor Lecter tipped his head to the side. "We can talk about whatever you like, Will; whatever's on your mind. I don't want to ask any questions that you can't handle right now."

"Well... what should I be getting out of this?"

"Most people have problems, Will, but few bother to understand them. But by understanding your problems, external and internal alike, you gain power over them. I hope for you to gain power over your self."

"Why do you like being a counsellor?"

Hannibal paused a moment. "I've always had a fascination with how people work. At first, I gained an understanding of the human body in my work as a surgeon; these days I prefer to understand the workings of the mind."

Will cocked his head. "So what, do you find me interesting or something? Why do I get special treatment?"

"You and I have been bound since that bloody night in the woods. My job has changed once again: I have to protect you from what you've done, Will, and to help you grow past it. At great risk to my career and my life." Hannibal gazed into the boy's curious, sad blue eyes. "I want to see what you can become."

"I don't think I have that much going for me," the boy scoffed. Guilt stung at his eyes. "You shouldn't have done that for me."

"Quite the contrary, Will. You're a very clever boy, and your ability to empathize is nearly unheard of."

Not convinced, the kid rolled his eyes. "I'm a mess," he said. Overwhelmed by the compliments, tears started streaming down, and Will caught them with a tissue.

Hannibal tutted in objection. "Everyone has trauma, Will, and it's never the victim's fault. There's nothing wrong with you." He paused for a moment, debating whether to broach the topic of the Hobbs girl again. "If anyone knew you killed Abigail, they'd never see you the same way again. Anyone except for me." Lecter stood and approached his patient, hovering within arms reach.

By now, Will's tears poured down in steady streams, hastily absorbed by tissues. The child was shuddering in self-hate, guilt, shame, approval, love.... Hannibal was an anchor. He clung to that man, who affectionately ran his fingers through his thick curls; whose hands so perfectly cupped the shallow curves of his back, making him feel like he was suspended in air. "Please," he begged, "please don't ever go."

Hannibal smiled down at his boy. "You couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 400 kudos! that makey me happey : ^)


	28. A Haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's past isn't yet behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know from the show, how easy it is to escape imprisonment....

In the long and arduous legal battles Garret Jacob Hobbs had to endure, he was shuffled between facilities like a rotten hot potato, any hands that met him immediately tossing him away. He couldn't blame them, he supposed, even if they had no understanding of what it was the man had actually been doing. What enraged him was how absolutely convinced everyone was that Hobbs had killed his daughter. He intended to, sure, but though he had (against the advice of his lawyer) admitted to everything else in the face of the overwhelming evidence, he could not convince the jury, and certainly not his wife, that he hadn't killed Abigail. More maddening still was that they wouldn't believe he loved her with all his heart. So, he gave in to his lawyer and feebly plead insanity -- whether he was convincingly crazy or if the jury was just as tired as he was, it worked.

Hobbs was being transported, along some long and winding road, to a prison for the criminally insane. Chains rattled as the cabin of the van lurched from side to side. There were two guards, both of them armed, but no extra security was allotted -- after all, Hobbs wasn't the physically-imposing type.

This information passed, through colleagues and leaks and rumours, to a certain scrutinous man of the time and route of this transfer. It would come as no surprise to him and him alone then, when a peculiar sight met the driver of the armoured vehicle. Placed in the centre of the road such that it could not be avoided, was a set of antlers, sharp and twisted up at the sky like a beggar's hands. (Further analysis would conclude that this particular rack was one won by Hobbs himself, contained until just last night in the sanctioned walls of the killer's cabin.) The antlers were dripping blood, thick and congealing in great winding trails. They lead up to the corpse of a doe, freshly slaughtered, festering on the horns.

The walkie-talkie on one of the guards crackled; a quick phrase was mumbled through it as the vehicle slowed. Hobbs did his best to remain unresponsive as the man hopped out and walked along to the front -- it would be better if the remaining one wasn't on edge. Through the thick steel, phrases of confusion and disgust were uttered. The prisoner didn't know what was happening, but he finally had his chance.

He crushed his left thumb into his palm, then wrenched from the manacle his thinning malnourished wrist (prison food held far less appeal than his home cooking). As his captor moved to react, Hobbs clicked the sharp and rusting rachet of the loose cuff free, driving its sharp end concisely into his carotid, spraying gouts of blood across the cabin and onto the killer's stern face.

The victim's radio cackled. "Get out here, we need some help clearing the road. And make sure Hobbs is secure before you do -- I think something's up."

Rushed but still calm, Hobbs took the half-unholstered gun and made sure it was loaded before stepping into the free world again. He brandished the weapon as he rounded the corner, spotting the two other men trying to brush the grotesque display aside. Hearing footsteps, the other armed guard turned around -- his face flashed in fear before a bullet was lodged into it. He took out the driver in succession. Knowing the scene of the crime could be driven past at any time, he took little time to consider the thing that had saved him before fleeing. _What a waste,_ though, he thought as he did.

Doctor Lecter closed the lid of his laptop, filled with a sort of serene smugness after reading Tattlecrime's latest update on Garret Jacob Hobbs. He left his office to find Will, who was laying idle on the living room couch. The boy could tell something was saddled on Hannibal's shoulders when he walked in, his gait conveying purpose that required a calm approach. It made his stomach sink before the man even spoke. "Garret Jacob Hobbs is loose." He presented the fact as plainly as possible and gauged Will's reaction.

The kid's face slackened as the words processed, slowly, his shimmering blue eyes flooding with confusion and fear and panic, as if the floor had fallen out from under him. He dove into the doctor's open arms, clutching him like a lost and drowning man clings to a buoy. Lecter took great pleasure in being that saviour.

Hannibal cupped the nape of Will's neck, hairs bristling and skin burning, and pressed the boy's head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and calming. "You're safe with me, Will," he swore. The child slackened slightly in his arms, but sobs were beginning to tear through him. "I promise I will protect you."

It was the next night, the sky pitch-black and starless, and a cold and shuddering Hobbs made his way through the empty school grounds. He knew, from when he registered Abigail here, where the main administrative building was. He hadn't planned on escaping, but right away he knew there was only one thing to do. Only one thing that could perhaps set his mind at ease.

He found a window around back that seemed to lead somewhere important: a room filled with file cabinets. Hobbs examined his surroundings first. There were patches of wet snow on the ground, which he had avoided as often as possible. In front of his window was a wide puddle of snow, extending fairly far in one direction. The hunter walked through it to the window, turning around where he stood when he reached it. He then walked towards the treeline a few yards away, and continued into it until the snow faded again. Then, walking backwards, the man retraced his steps, careful to align every step.

A sharp rock Hobbs had found among the trees was wrapped in a tattered scrap of cloth for grip, then was dashed against the thick glass. The impact reverberated through his arm, and his tired bones ached. The glass was too thick though, and the man found he'd have to use both hands. Cracked bones and bruised flesh screamed out in pain with every glassy _thud_ , despite how he'd managed to relocate his left thumb. His rage screamed louder.

A flurry of shards collapsed inward, muffled clinks ringing out as they coated the carpeted floor. Sopping-wet and ragged prison shoes further crushed the glass beneath them. Somewhere, he assumed, a silent alarm would be blaring -- he only had so much time. There was a security camera in the corner, he noticed, and made quick work to get onto a desk and bash the lens beyond repair. He scanned the cabinets for the letters he was looking for, bashing the lock off his target drawer and ripping it open. _D... E... F... G! ...Gi... Gn... Go... Gr... Graham._ He ripped the folder open, searching desperately for whatever form held his current residence. He found it.

Hobbs placed the file back in its place and closed its drawer, proceeding to bash off a few more surrounding locks to make it less clear what he was searching for. Hobbs exited the way he came, a shard cutting him as he passed through, then walked backwards along his footprints as fast as he could while still being precise. Free from the telling snow, he sprinted into the woods; Will Graham's current residence was clear in his mind.

Police arrived at the scene later, having procrastinated on taking the call, closing off the area with bright yellow tape and otherwise doing nothing of worth. A group of three were sent off in the direction of the footprints, sweeping the twisted trees with their flashlights. Hobbs must not have gotten time to go far, they figured. An alert was issued to the public, but it was so late that few would receive it.

When Beverly Katz arrived on-scene, she had already been told roughly what happened. The investigator waved away the one officer remaining, flashing her FBI badge, and ducked below the tape. Cabinets containing files on students were opened sporadically, including the letters 'G' and 'V'. She knew Hobbs would be tying up loose ends, which meant either he'd finish off his last victim, Margot Verger, the possibility the police officer said he found more likely, or the boy who was present when he killed his daughter -- or whatever it was that happened that night. Both victims were too close by.

Agent Katz found the relevant files, and called for police to arrive at either address. In her own car, Beverly sped towards the residence of Hannibal Lecter. She prayed they had time left.

Hannibal had not gone to sleep that night. For most men whose life was currently threatened, this would be out of anxiety; of course, Doctor Lecter felt no such thing. There were alarms at the perimeter of the house to warn him of anyone's approach, which would simply notify the homeowner with a text. When he received the message saying there was movement over the western wall, the man calmly stood and made his way to his child's bedroom.

As it turned out, Will hadn't found sleep either. He met Hannibal in the hall, jumping silently with fear in the moment it took for him to confirm he knew the silhouette. "I'm scared, he whimpered."

The doctor cooed the boy, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "The alarms went off," he said. "Someone is coming." Again Will was washed over with sudden terror, his shadowed blue eyes trembling and shining with tears. Hannibal produced from behind his back a handgun. "If anything goes wrong, Will, I want you to use this on Hobbs, be it as a threat or as a weapon." He handed the pistol to Will handle-first. The boy gripped it in his hands, feeling the surprising weight when compared to a toy. As the muzzle was still pointed at Hannibal, the man clicked the small lever at the side of the gun. "This is the safety; I just turned it off. That's the only way it will fire. I trust you understand this is no toy, Will." He clicked the safety back into place.

The child nodded uncertainly, nervously avoiding the trigger. "Won't you need one?"

Hannibal offered a reassuring smile. "I think I'll be able to manage," he said with no uncertainty.

There was a thudding downstairs, and Will leapt. Hannibal ushered the two of them into the formerly-guest bedroom, locking the door from the inside and wedging a chair beneath the doorknob. Then there was the sound of glass breaking. Had the safety not been on, Will's panicked squeezing of the trigger could have landed Hannibal in the hospital.

Hobbs stepped through the shattered frame, too rushed to bother sweeping off shards of glass. His ragged clothes tore and his thin skin was slit, blood spreading across the fabric and leaving a small spattering on the floor. He did a sweep of the first floor, then began unevenly hobbling up the steps, doing his best to avoid making enough noise to pinpoint his location.

He reached the landing at the top, examined his surroundings, and headed for the nearest door. Garret Jacob Hobbs trod carefully across the floor and lowered himself down to peer through the bottom crack. There was dim ambient light, allowing him to see the legs of a chair on the other side. His prey was inside, but he was stuck out there -- no way was he kicking down a reinforced door by the time the child could escape out his window. The piano room, whose door was left slightly ajar. Inside, he found and grabbed the bow to a violin, thin enough to fit through the gap beneath the door. Before too much time had passed, he was back crouched before Will's door.

Huddled together at the foot of the bed, Will watched the door with shuddering anxiety, his gun half-raised to the door, supported by Hannibal's calm hand. After the window shattered, there had been no sounds aside from the odd creak, but that only meant Hobbs could arrive any moment. Each second passed slower than the last.

Suddenly, forcefully, something rammed the foot of the chair propped against the door, causing it to collapse flat. Hannibal got to his feet by the time the dull clatter of the furniture rang out, and was at the doorway when it was concisely kicked in. The muzzle of a gun glinted in the dim lighting the moon cast through drawn window shades as it entered the room, followed closely by Garret Jacob Hobbs.

"Hands up," he commanded, waving his gun at the man. He had no business with him. "Back off."

Doctor Lecter obeyed, albeit with a smug look still plastered across his face. "Normally I don't take guests at this hour," he mused, with an absurdly-even tone. "You could have at least taken your shoes off."

Annoyance grew across Hobbs' creased face. "What happened to Abigail," he spat at Will.

The boy shook his head pathetically, and raised his gun to match the former father's.

"Go ahead kid, you're a bad shot," he scoffed. There was venom in his voice. Will clicked the safety on his gun off.

"Do it, Will."

Hobbs whipped his gun back in Hannibal's direction -- "Shut the fuck up!" He urged the pistol towards him, as if to show for sure his threat was tangible. He whipped it again back towards the crying child. _"I said, what did you do to her!"_

Will was starting to break down now. "I-I--" he choked, beginning to confess, but he couldn't expel the rest of the sentence.

"Every part of her was honoured," Hannibal suddenly chimed in, "just like you wanted."

A strange look overcame Hobbs now, his arms loosening slightly with part of a revelation. He looked, curious, at the man standing before him.

"You... were going to -- to kill her, weren't you?" Will's deep blue eyes flashed with anger for a moment. He stood up unsteadily, wavering on his feet. His gun was still pointed half at the killer, half downward. "You wanted to kill your daughter. That's why you took all those other girls, wasn't it?" His voice had started out mousy and frail, but by the end he was screaming it.

Garret Jacob Hobbs let out a long shuddering sigh. "It's not _murder_ ," he explained. "Not if you honor them. She was going to live on with me, forever--" A bullet rang out, and there was suddenly a sharp cold pain hit his neck. Hobbs felt a tendon in his neck sever, letting out an audible snap; warmth rushed down his neck, spreading across his skin and his clothes. A man was beside him now, gingerly taking the gun from Hobbs' slackened grip. Consciousness left him before he hit the ground.

Beverly Katz arrived at the gate to Doctor Lecter's property and was trying to buzz in when she heard the gun go off. The police then prepared to open the large iron enterance by force, but they swung open just before they could do anything.

Hannibal Lecter calmly explained the night's proceedings, though he was careful to specify that Hobbs wanted revenge, and nothing more. The FBI carried the corpse away, promises were made to help clean the house (which Lecter refused), and questions asked. When all parties were satisfied for the night, the man and child were left alone.

That night, Will Graham slept sheltered in Hannibal's bed, wrapped in a blanket and shielded by broad arms. "You did good tonight, Will. You very well may have just saved us both."

The boy wasn't speaking, only sobbing.

Hannibal planted a chaste kiss across the forehead. He stayed awake to keep company until Will drifted away into sleep, where he would stay until well through the next day -- and Hannibal was there holding him every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to you, if I have any excuse at all, I will get Freddie Lounds physically involved in the plot and if I can, she will die. That's my hope, going forward,


	29. Investigations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will grappels with having killed Garret Jacob Hobbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while! I had a lot of fun doing side projects. I'm back now though, and I'm gonna get back into the groove of things with fresh eyes. Thank you all for your continued support <3 I realized I've been working on this fic for over half a year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Even after Hannibal cleaned the blood from the carpet (quite efficiently), as far as Will's mind was concerned, his corpse still laid there at night, staring blankly from the corner. The night after the home invasion the boy attempted to sleep back in his bed, but midway through his rest he woke up in a cold sweat, crying and running to Hannibal, unable to fall back asleep alone. At first, a cot set up in the living room was used as a replacement, but the wide-open living room and even the office seemed utterly unsafe, despite the doctor insisting otherwise. And so it seemed, at least for the time being, that the child could only rest, could only feel safe to, in the arms of his caretaker, nuzzled against his warm chest and sheltered by his presence. Hannibal made it clear the intrusion was no issue, and in fact, sleep had always been something the man could go largely without -- he needed some rest, of course, but the frequent interruptions were of little consequence. He held young Will as he struggled against his dreams, turning and moaning and sweating, barely managing to not tip the balance and fall back into consciousness; through the darkness of the room, the only light sneaking in through the edges of the curtains, Hannibal's eyes never left the child, so fascinating and divine.

Things were dark in the mind of young Will Graham. Even sheltered by the man he found himself growing more and more dependent on, the nightmares worked their way into him. Even days after, he found the scene of him shooting Garret Jacob Hobbs replaying in his mind most nights, the weight of the trigger still lingering on his finger. Killing a man with a gun had a different feeling to it than killing with a knife. The pistol was loud, forceful. Like a horse kicking, where Will did nothing more than loosely steer it. The smell of gunpowder stained the air, and it felt like the entire world hummed a sharp high-pitched note. It was explosive violence -- and he was horrified by how sudden and impersonal it was. Death dispensed at a moment's notice, and Hobbs had had one too. The man could have fired at any second, and that scared Will even more.

* * *

That morning, just as Hannibal was preparing to serve breakfast for him and Will, there was a knock at the door. The man, already dressed and groomed, answered the door in short order. Standing cockily on the doorstep was a woman with fiery red hair, tight ringlets spiralling chaotically down to her shoulders. A hasty hand jumped up to offer a handshake, and Hannibal reluctantly accepted (taking care to maintain his usual professionalism despite his annoyance at the early-morning intrusion).

"Freddie Lounds," she offered as the man took her hand. Her grip was unusually forceful. "I'm a journalist with--"

"Tattlecrime dot com; I'm aware."

The ginger smiled wide. "A fan, then? I'll keep the introduction short then. You are?"

"Hannibal Lecter." The handshake slowed now, and the man retracted his hand. "I imagine you're here because of the break-in."

Again, a false smile of confirmation. "May I come in?"

"You may not."

Lounds paused for a moment at the refusal, then continued in stride. "Is Will Graham here? I was hoping for an interview." She craned her neck slightly, attempting to get a view inside. "I was just in the area..."

"I'm afraid young Will is in no condition to relive the night's events," he responded, moving slightly to close the door a touch, hoping the woman would take the hint and leave.

She did not. "What did Garret Jacob Hobbs want with the boy? He wouldn't stop asking what happened to his daughter -- was Will involved? I understand he was there the night she disappeared."

Hannibal breathed in sharply, like an inverted sigh. "Unfortunately, I possess even less insight into the killer's mind than you do. Now you'll excuse me, I must serve up breakfast."

"I understand," the journalist said performatively. "Well, when he gets better, please reach out." She reached into her purse and presented an unimpressive calling card, which the gentleman took gently between thumb and forefinger, not sparing it so much as a glance.

Wanting to get back inside now, Doctor Lecter bowed slightly, and the woman thankfully retreated to her car.

"Who was it?" Will asked when Hannibal returned to the kitchen at last.

The faucet ran to re-clean his hands before continuing to cook. "One Freddie Lounds."

The boy looked confused. "Like, from that news site?"

"It's hardly news; more like gossip. Credit and condemnation where it's due: Ms. Lounds _does_ dig deep." He tried off his hands and began to plate the morning's breakfast. He was in a mood for a slightly more exotic breakfast, but the child was picky, so they had opted for a good old-fashioned American breakfast. "It appears she shares Hobbs's curiosity when it comes to Abigail's whereabouts." Hannibal splayed several thin strips of bacon across either plate, crispy and thankfully still-warm.

Will's heart dropped. "I-- D-do you think she's on to me?" He was thankful that the FBI and police largely ignored him as a suspect (After all, who else but the father would have wanted to?), but now panic was setting in.

"Don't worry Will; if there was substantial evidence, I trust the FBI would already have come knocking." Golden-brown eggs then buried the bacon, followed by a garnish of green onions and fresh herbs. "Ms. Lounds is simply trying to find a story that will sell."

"You're sure she won't find out?"

Hash browns and green onions were piled on to either plate, along with buttered toast. "As long as you don't let on that anything's amiss, you'll be fine, Will. Now let us eat, before the food cools."

Will trailed behind his caretaker as he carried the loaded plates to the table, offering his help by taking Hannibal's mug and his own glass of milk along with the cutlery and napkins. He started eating immediately, starting with the hash browns, though the boy would on occasion get lost in thought and end up only poking at his meal absentmindedly. "How did Hobbs escape?" The boy's question rang out across the dining table.

"According to Tattlecrime dot com, a sculpture was erected in his honour, blocking the road: a doe, impaled by antlers in the street. Garret Jacob Hobbs took the distraction as an opportunity to kill his captors and escape." The man spoke casually, the morning's paper still nonchalantly grasped in his hand.

Will turned over the information in his head. "Someone wanted him to escape."

Hannibal nodded his head in approval. "It would appear that way." He took a sip of tea before setting the mug and the paper down. "Who could do such a thing?"

"A... a fan, maybe? Serial killers get those don't they?"

"The media loves to celebritize mass murderers. There are those who find serial killers tantalizing: exotic in their cruelty and compelling in their emotions -- or a lack thereof. People like to tell themselves that they're good, contrasted by looking at the dark reflection of humanity. Many blind themselves to the similarities." Lecter set the paper down and leaned in more towards the child. "There are also those who are drawn to celebrity, but this isn't so self-absorbed. It was likely anonymous. Whoever did this extended it as a personal gesture. One of understanding."

"Then, not a fan," he mumbled to himself. "A partner maybe? But I don't think he got any help after; a friend would have given him a coat or something. Does the article say anything about it?"

Hannibal clicked his tongue. "Freddie Lounds speculated it may be a hunting partner, but before Abigail's disappearance, she also threw out the idea that the girl might be involved in some way. She's merely grasping at straws," he said before taking in another mouthful of food.

Will nodded and washed down his last bite with a chug of milk. "It is a different, uh... methodology. If it was a hunting partner, the doe wouldn't have been left as waste."

"I believe the term you're looking for is 'M.O.'," Hannibal offered.

"I think I've heard that before.... What does it mean?"

"It's short for 'modus operandi', meaning _method of procedure_ , used most commonly in reference to crime."

The boy shook his head in understanding. "Thanks," he said, hastily downing more of his breakfast before continuing. "So the one who helped Hobbs escape, it's a different M.O., but the influence is still there. Not a partner, but probably another hunter right? Or someone in a... _similar_ line of work."

"A fellow predator."

"Right. So, what, he just sympathized with Hobbs?"

Doctor Lecter held a moment in thought. "Garret Jacob Hobbs was caught before he could fulfill his fantasy. Perhaps this colleague wondered what the man still had in store for the world."

Will hummed, and a minute passed where the two sat in silence as they continued to eat and think. Eventually, the clatter of forks was replaced again by voice. "Do you think they knew where Hobbs went?" Fear shook the child's voice. "Do you think he'd come after me to finish the job?"

"Hobbs's failure was his own, as were his desires; the sculptor offered another chance, but I doubt he would continue the man's work."

"That's... _some_ relief...." He shuddered to think there was a man out there who could appreciate the murder and cannibalization of eight girls, plus however more were intended. "Great bacon, by the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh im so hyped for this new arc bro,,, like,,, expect more fun with will being a little more edgy; more Freddie Lounds bs, & who knows what else. just,,, its gon be funnnn!!!!! i also like, split this chapter in half so the next one is already pretty much written so see yall again soon!
> 
> as usual, follow me on twitter, and maybe consider commissioning me (i have fuckin no money lmao it sucks)

**Author's Note:**

> If you like me and the kinda shit I write, follow me on Twitter @HeartsickHand, where I occasionally do lil prompts and doodles and more complete works sometimes even (although this fic is most of my private time rn. So. Mostly doodles) DMs are open! I also have an email, HeartsickHand@gmail.com, if you want to talk about this fic or anything. I'm always super down to talk!  
> Commissions open!!  
> Comments super appreciated, kudos and bookmarks make me smile and get me motivated, and the fic just being read makes me happy! <3


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